THE CHURCH IN AN AGE OF SECULAR MYSTICISMS: Why Spiritualities without God Fail to Transform Us. By Andrew Root. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2023. Xviii + 269 pages.  

The church exists in a secular age, or so it seems. It’s not that spirituality and religion are absent. Rather they have taken a backseat to a larger secular ethos. While religious movements and communities have attempted to adapt, they have found it difficult to keep up. Besides the authority structures of our age work against the spiritual/religious. As a result, religion is not only personal, it is private.

                The question of the church’s status within this secular age has been the focus of a series of six books written by Andrew Root. Root, who is the Carrie Olson Baalson Professor of Youth and Family Ministry at Luther Seminary, intended to write a trilogy of books, but that trilogy ended up being six books. The final book in this series focuses on, as the title suggests, the challenge posed by secular mysticisms. In other words, people still want mystical experiences, but many seek them without turning to God. This particular book under review, and I’ve reviewed most of them in the series, can be considered a companion to Root’s first book in the series, Faith Formation in a Secular Age, a book that focused on the search for youthfulness.

Earlier books have focused on ministry and congregational life, but as with the first volume, The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticisms looks more broadly at the nature of faith in a secular world. Being that this is the final volume in a series that has attempted to show how the secular age has impacted the church, including causing much of the decline we've experienced. In large part, this decline is due to our inability to keep up with the ever-changing nature of the secular world. In this final book, Root addresses what he sees as the emergence of spiritualities or mysticism that are secular in nature in that they seek mystical experiences without God. Now forms of Buddhism are nontheistic, but we're not talking about that kind of nontheistic spiritualities. These are spiritualities deeply rooted in the modern secular world. The problem is that these spiritualities do not transform us.

Standing at the center of this conversation is the role of the self, which has become so important in the late modern world. But as Root demonstrates in the first four chapters of the book, the self has become weighed down by guilt (something earlier generations sought to set aside). This reality has led many who experience this sense of guilt to search for secular spiritualities that can help them deal with their guilt. Along the way, we are introduced to people who express this search for mystical experiences to deal with this sense of guilt, including through the increasingly popular memoir. It is soon clear that this is not a genre that Root puts great hope in, but it is revealing.

After Root introduces us to the current problem of the self and its entanglement with guilt, which leads to a search for spiritualities without God, in chapter 5 he introduces us to a series of triangles. These triangles are centered on three dimensions of experience. First, there are those Root calls the Exclusive Humanists (E.Hums). This group of people believes that all forms of flourishing come from within humanity. There is nothing outside or beyond the human. At the far bottom corner of this triangle, we encounter those persons/groups who embrace what he calls the Counter Enlightenment. For them, the identity of the self is to be found external to the self, but as with its opposite, it does so without any reference to God. Counter Enlightenment adherents focus on the will to power (Nietzsche) and pursue the heroic. Finally, sitting at the top of the triangle are the Beyonders. Unlike the other two poles of this triangle, these folks operate from a position of submission to God. Unlike them, the E.Hums and the CEs are in agreement that there is no beyond, but they envision the path differently. Of course, few of us live on the points of the triangle but rather situate ourselves somewhere on a continuum between points of the triangle. With this in mind, Root places Mainliners on a continuum between the E.Hums and the Beyonders (mostly near the E. Hums). He places evangelicals between the CEs and the Beyonders. I found this chapter very helpful in the way Root places different people and groups on these continuums. One of the results of this effort of placing folks on these continuums is that we see how clearly that transcendence has been lost. These three points serve as forms of transcendence. This chapter does a good job of placing a variety of people and groups along the three sides. In chapter 6, Root returns to the "Mystical Memoirists," he uses several memoirists to illustrate where they fall on the three sides of the triangle. Each of these memoirs expresses aspects of the self and the ways it deals with guilt, usually without reference to God.

In the final four chapters, Root explores how the Beyonders help us experience transformation. The point he wants to make is that not all forms of mysticism are equal or transformative. In Chapter 7, Root notes that people who seek mystical experiences often want to create “a smooth, pornographic world, obsessed with action.” Here he speaks of a “late-modern neoliberal aesthetic obsession with the smooth” (p. 170). We want things to go smoothly. It is an expression of an embrace of positivity. Root uses contemporary art to embody this ethic.  It is pornographic in the sense that we seek “transparency,” lacking any hermeneutical depth or meaning. This undermines the mystical. It is obsessed with action; in that it leaves no room for contemplation. In such a culture nothing lasts. In Chapter 8, Root offers an alternative to the former, which emphasizes the passive, receptive perspective expressed by Luther and Meister Eckhart, who sought to balance the active and contemplative ways. Finally, in Chapter 9, Root introduces us to Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, the mysterious father of Christian mysticism who took the name of Paul's convert but seems to appear somewhere between the third and sixth centuries. His embrace of the via negativa influenced later theologians including Maximus the Confessor and others. While the contemporary seeker after mysticism focuses on the positive, Pseudo-Dionysius invites us to embrace the negative. He writes that for Denys (the French for Dionysius) “negativity is the confession that the self—which so needs encounter what is beyond and other—has no (zero) capacity from within the self to do so” (p. 233). The path here takes us radically beyond the self.

One thing to note from earlier books as well as this one, is that Root introduces us to numerous figures, many of whom are philosophers. In chapter 10, the final chapter of The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticisms, Root introduces us to Franz Rosenzweig, a secular Jew who pursued conversion to Christianity, having embraced what Root calls the Marcionism of 19th-century Protestantism, one that sought escape from the world. A conversation in 1913 with his cousin, who had converted, led him to reject this Marcionism and embrace the world. At the same time, Rosenzweig decided not to convert to Christianity. What Rosenzweig does is discover that to love God is to love the world. In other words, to love God is to refrain from hating the world. While Rosenzweig didn’t convert from Judaism to Christianity, he revealed something important. Both Judaism and Christianity are or should be moved by missions of redemption of the world. Thus, “It is a mission that affirms the world as the place where God ministers to the world inside I-You relationships. Mission is neither imperial (Constantinian) nor bound in market growth; it is personal, bound in relationships of persons in confession and surrender” (p. 255). What Root hopes we’ll take from this conversation is that “transformation is in the shape of the cross.” It is receptive, it is transcendent. Thus, “The mystical is in the world in the shape of Jesus Christ, who is in and for the world, calling us by name” (p. 262).

As with other books in this series, Andrew Root's The Church in an Age of Secular Mysticisms invites us to slow down and stop chasing the latest promise of growth. Instead, he wants those of us in the church to recognize that we can’t keep up, so instead, let’s wait on God. It’s not an easy message to embrace because we feel pressured to fix the problem. Thus, like the secular world itself, we live on the immanent frame and fail to draw on the transcendent. Throughout the book, we get a travelogue, as Root and his family travel across the globe, seeing expressions of the secular. At the same time, he recognizes that the secular is not the answer, for it lacks the power to transform. That is because it seeks to transform without reference to God. While I can’t say this was my favorite book in the series it is a fitting conclusion. Roots books tend to be dense, yet they offer valuable guidance for the church in this secular age.

Luke 1:26-38 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

²⁶ In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, ²⁷ to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. ²⁸ And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” ²⁹ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. ³⁰ The angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. ³¹ And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. ³² He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. ³³ He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” ³⁴ Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” ³⁵ The angel said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. ³⁶ And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. ³⁷ For nothing will be impossible with God.” ³⁸ Then Mary said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Then the angel departed from her.

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 Note: As I write this reflection for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, this is that strange year when the Fourth Sunday and Christmas Eve fall on the same day. I realize that there will be some who choose to focus on Christmas Eve and skip the Fourth Sunday. Nevertheless, the readings for the Fourth Sunday remain important to the larger story.  

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                Having heard that John the Baptist had prepared the way for the coming of the Lord, we now hear a birth announcement. While Mark and John place John in a position to baptize Jesus, or at least point him out to a people hoping for a messianic figure, so that his ministry can begin, the reading from Luke 1 prepares us for the Christmas message. This is the word we’ve been waiting to hear. A child will be born to reign over the house of Jacob forever, and a young woman named Mary will have the honor of bearing this child. This announcement follows another, for in Luke’s telling of the Jesus story, Jesus has a cousin named John, who will baptize him later on in life. The story of John’s somewhat miraculous conception precedes the announcement to Mary, such that in Luke 1 the stories of John and Jesus, Elizabeth and Mary, are intertwined. In this particular reading the focus is solely on the announcement to Mary, who is betrothed to Joseph, who is a member of the house of David.

                You might speak of this encounter not as an annunciation as much as it is a divine call. Even as the angel Gabriel visited Zechariah to let him know that his wife, Elizabeth, would in her old age bear a child with an important divine calling to serve as a prophet to the people (Lk 1:8-20), in the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, Gabriel appears to Mary who lives in Nazareth in Galilee to let her know that she is favored by God. As you might expect, Mary is “perplexed.” After all, angels don’t show up on a regular basis, which is why Gabriel’s follow-up words are “Don’t be afraid.” This is a common word placed on the lips of angels, even if as Esther Hamori notes, they are the most human-like of God’s host, many of which are rather monstrous. As a result, she writes that on “some level, we identify with angels; we register that they’re like us. And maybe we seek to domesticate them in art and song and seasonal décor in order to avoid the mirror image of our own monstrosity” [Hamori, God’s Monsters, p. 133]. It’s just something to ponder as we consider Gabriel’s visitation to Mary, and his word of comfort as the word that she is perplexed seems to have a bit of fear attached.   

                Here is where the calling comes into play. Gabriel informs Mary that God has chosen her to bear a holy child whose story that Luke is about to unfold. It’s a story that includes a birth, a death, and a resurrection/ascension. According to Luke, at the moment of Gabriel’s visitation, Mary is living in the small Galilean village of Nazareth and is betrothed to Joseph, but she’s still a virgin. Unlike Matthew, Luke doesn’t connect Mary’s status as a virgin with a word from Isaiah (Matt. 1:22-23; Is.7:14). Mary isn’t a person of wealth or status. She lives far from the center of Jewish religious life. Yet, God has chosen her for this important mission. The one piece here that qualifies her is Joseph’s connection to David, a status revealed in the birth story since Joseph and Mary must travel to Bethlehem to register (Lk 2:1-7). Thus, Jesus can claim in some fashion to the House of David, which allows him to be called the son of David (Lk 1:32; 3:31;18:38-39). This is the foundation for Jesus’ messianic calling, as Gabriel is intimating that Mary’s child will sit on David’s throne and reign over Israel (the House of Jacob) forever.   

                As you might expect, Mary is overwhelmed by the news and is quite aware of her current state, that of being a virgin. She responds to Gabriel’s news with predictable words: “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Now, I suppose Gabriel could simply tell Mary that once she and Joseph consummate their marriage, she’ll get pregnant, and their child would be the chosen one. After all, that’s essentially what Gabriel told Zechariah, though Elizabeth wasn’t a virgin, rather she was barren. However, that’s not what Gabriel tells her. Instead, Gabriel tells Mary that the “Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God” (Lk. 1:35).

                This verse raises all kinds of red flags for many modern Christians. While the creeds invite us to confess that Jesus “came down from heaven, was incarnate of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and became human” (Nicene Creed), we tend to cross our fingers at that point. While my denomination is noncreedal, we do have a confession of faith called the Preamble to the Design. It says nothing about Mary being a virgin. In fact, what it invites us to confess is that “Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God, and proclaim him Lord and Savior of the World.” The message, whatever our concerns, is that Jesus is human but not merely human. There is something different about him. Thus, the Council of Ephesus in 431 determined that Mary should be called the Theotokos, that is, the "God-bearer" or “Mother of God.” Joe Jones offers us some sobering thoughts that can help us hear this word from Luke. Of the declaration that Mary is the Theotokos, he writes:

If we pull back from this sobering assertion, then we endanger our capacity to follow through on the logic of the eternal Son becoming incarnate by the womb of a woman. We could then have a docetized Jesus that simply appears in the façade of a human being. But Mary is the Mother of the incarnate Son not by any virtues or powers she inherently possesses but by the impregnating, life-giving power of the Holy Spirit. Mary is graciously elected and empowered to be the Mother of the eternal Son. The decisive grammatical point is not to involve us in useless speculation about the mechanics or hydraulics of this impregnating and apparent virginity. [A Grammar of Christian Faith, 2:409].

He makes two points as a result. First “the eternal Son becomes incarnate from the womb of a woman, another human being.” Secondly, “this eternal Son becomes incarnate by the empowering action of the Holy Spirit” [Jones, Grammar of the Christian Faith, 2:409-410]. This ultimately is a miracle of God. It is not something we are meant to dissect, but rather confess, so that we might embrace the message that Jesus is the Son of God. That is, “the real miracle is that God becomes human flesh through being born of a Jewish woman” [Grammar of the Christian Faith, 2:410].

                The stories of Gabriel’s visitation to Zechariah and Mary, as well as the pregnancies of Elizabeth and Mary, raise all kinds of questions. One of those questions has to do with the apparent relationship between Mary and Elizabeth since one would assume that Elizabeth, whose husband is a priest, would come from the tribe of Levi, while Mary and Joseph would be part of the tribe of Judah. Of course, Luke doesn’t seem bothered by these inconsistencies. We need to raise them, but Luke is not concerned. He simply wants to connect John and Jesus in a familial way, so that they are connected both by their births and their interaction as adults, though Luke doesn’t draw our attention to their apparent relationship when Jesus comes to be baptized by John.

                Gabriel’s announcement to Mary has significant political implications because the land in which Mary and Joseph dwell is a vassal kingdom. The current occupant of the throne in Israel is an Idumean monarch who had married into the Hasmonean family, which had briefly ruled Judea until the kingdom came under Roman control. Herod was known to be a jealous king who killed his own family members to protect his rule. Even Herod had to worry about his connection with Rome. So, if this child were to grow up and take the throne to David’s kingdom, that would require throwing off Roman rule. While many tried, no one succeeded, at least not for several centuries. Besides, David’s throne had been empty for six centuries. So, how would this transpire? Indeed, remember that this word was delivered to a young woman, likely still in her teen years, who lived in the insignificant village of Nazareth, in Galilee, far from the center of power.

                We hear this word about a child who will be born to a young woman living in Nazareth with Christmas knocking on the door. We’re likely busy with making final plans for the celebration. Preachers might be working feverishly on that Christmas homily, so perhaps we could skip this word and get right to the heart of the matter. But at least Luke thinks we need this announcement before we get to the birth story. Besides, once this all sinks in with Mary (after visiting her cousin Elizabeth), she responds with the Magnificat. Yes, Mary will magnify the Lord because the Lord looked upon her with favor. She sings about the Lord scattering the proud and bringing down the proud from their thrones, and more. All of this is because God made a promise to Abraham (Lk. 1:46-55).

                The moment we’ve been waiting for is about to dawn, but it’s not quite there. So, be patient and keep watch. It would appear that the realm Jesus is to initiate will look different from that of Herod, Augustus, or any other human ruler. We like “strong leaders,” but it would seem that God has a different vision for the coming realm, for the one who will be born to Mary will operate very differently from Herod or modern pretenders. As Paul put it in Philippians 2 (whether he wrote the hymn or not is immaterial here):

⁵ Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

⁶ who, though he existed in the form of God,
    did not regard equality with God
    as something to be grasped,
⁷ but emptied himself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    assuming human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a human,
⁸     he humbled himself
    and became obedient to the point of death—
    even death on a cross.

⁹ Therefore God exalted him even more highly
    and gave him the name
    that is above every other name,
¹⁰ so that at the name given to Jesus
    every knee should bend,
    in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
¹¹ and every tongue should confess
    that Jesus Christ is Lord,
    to the glory of God the Father.  (Phil. 2:5-11)

 Image Attribution: Wesley, Frank, 1923-2002. Annunciation, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59234 [retrieved December 16, 2023]. Original source: Estate of Frank Wesley, http://www.frankwesleyart.com/main_page.htm.

WALTER BRUEGGEMANN’S PROPHETIC IMAGINATION: A Theological Biography. By Conrad L. Kanagy. Foreword by Samuel Wells. Minneapolis, MI: Fortress Press, 2023.  Xxxi +215 pages.

If you are a preacher, at least in Mainline Protestant circles, you know the name of Walter Brueggemann. He continues to be one of the most influential Old Testament scholars of our day and has been for the last half-century. Brueggemann is a leading Bible scholar, but he is not just an academician. He is first and foremost a scholar who works on behalf of the church. We who preach and teach have come to value his wisdom and insight, whether it comes to us through his books and commentaries or his speeches and sermons. Even when I don’t agree with his assessment, he still makes me think. I have had the privilege of not only reading Brueggemann but meeting him. In fact, I moderated a panel discussion that involved responses to earlier presentations and his responses. What makes him somewhat unique is that not only does he write about the prophets, especially Jeremiah, but also has the countenance and bearing of a prophet. I've only encountered him in recent decades, but his tall lanky body, balding head, and scruffy beard give that vibe. The question is, who is Walter Brueggemann? Where did he come from and how did he become such an influential scholar, teacher, and preacher?

The answer to the questions raised by enquiring minds is given to us, at least in part, by Conrad Kanagy, in his biography of Walter Brueggemann. Kanagy’s biography quite appropriately carries the title Walter Brueggemann's Prophetic Imagination: A Theological Biography. Kanagy’s title draws from Brueggemann’s best-known and most influential book: The Prophetic Imagination, a book that was originally published in 1978 and continues to speak to preachers and scholars. Perhaps the reason why that book and Brueggemann himself continue to speak is because, as Samuel Wells, in his Foreword, writes “Walter believes in the God of the Scriptures.” He doesn’t avoid the difficult biblical passages but instead invites us to deal with them, rather than sanitize and refract to render a more wholesome deity” (pp. x-xi). In other words, he believes in the God found in the text. He is also a theologian who believes in the church. Thus, again quoting from Wells in words I can affirm: “Most people who’ve read his books or attended his sermons see Walter as a towering figure, mission only sandals and a crooked figure to be [a] hectoring prophet of the Old Testament.”  Of course, he is much more than that, and Kanagy tells that fuller story.

The author of this biography is Conrad Kanagy, a professor of sociology at Elizabethtown College. Now it may seem odd that a sociology professor would write a biography of a biblical scholar, but it is not as odd as you might think. That is because Brueggemann not only studied sociology as an undergraduate at Elmhurst College, but he has drawn liberally from sociology and the social sciences in his biblical scholarship. As for Kanagy, as a sociologist, he has focused his attention on American and global Christianity. It is in that context that he “first met Walter Brueggemann in the library stacks of Elizabethtown College." It's not that Brueggemann was visiting the college, but it was there in 2006, while researching his own Mennonite denomination, that he stumbled upon Brueggemann's books as he was looking for commentaries on the Book of Jeremiah. The book through which he encountered Brueggemann was The Prophetic Imagination. What he discovered there was the revelation “that perhaps God was in the middle of the church mess I had uncovered. Perhaps God was even responsible for the mess!" (pp. xiii-xv). He again turned to Brueggemann's works in 2021 as he was working on a sermon on racism even as some members of his congregation had come under Donald Trump's spell. In this case, Kanagy wrote to Brueggemann seeking guidance, a query that Brueggemann answered. Kanagy asked Brueggemann whether there was a biography that could do for him than what The Prophetic Imagination had done for him a decade and a half earlier. Brueggemann wrote to tell Kanagy that he couldn’t come up with a biography of the sort Kanagy had asked for, which led Kanagy if he could write Brueggemann's story. Though, as Samuel Wells notes, Brueggemann is a shy man he agreed to the request, though he didn’t believe there was much to write about. Brueggemann might not have thought there was enough material to fill a biography, Kanagy’s biography demonstrates that there is much to be learned from Brueggemann's story.

Kanagy makes an important point. He hasn’t attempted to interpret everything Brueggemann has written. While there might be value in such a book, which would likely be highly technical, Kanagy seeks to paint in broad strokes Brueggemann’s life, seeking to show how his writings, teaching, and preaching have impacted so many people and churches. Therefore, Kanagy tells the story of a man who has influenced so many people that is based on a series of Zoom calls with Brueggemann along with interviews with colleagues, friends, and students. From that foundation, Kanagy seeks to "look into Walter's inner life with God, searching for the answer to what of divinity has produced and sustained the quality and quantity of Walter's work." What we learn is that there are no categories that fully describe his own spirituality, but it is there.

Kanagy divides the story of Brueggemann's life into three parts using the idea of The Prophetic Imagination as the central lens. Beginning in Part 1, we encounter two chapters. The opening chapter introduces us to Brueggemann the scholar who discovered the prophetic imagination as the way to understand Scripture. We learn here that Brueggemann was committed to his scholarship, trying to find time away each day, writing (long hand) the equivalent of twelve pages double-spaced each day in about two to three hours. His understanding of the text was influenced greatly by his doctoral mentor James Muilenburg, who introduced him to rhetorical interpretation as an alternative to the dominant historical-critical method, which both Muilenberg and his students found static and didn't speak to modern concerns. After graduating from Union Seminary with his Ph.D. he returned to his beloved Eden Seminary, where he not only did his seminary work but where his father had studied before him. He began teaching at Eden in 1961, but it was not until 1978 that his breakthrough book, The Prophetic Imagination, was published. Before that took place, Brueggemann had taken on the role of dean of the seminary at a time when the seminary was in decline and the possibility of closure was real. Thus, he tried to combine scholarship, teaching, and administrative leadership. In this chapter, we are not only introduced to his scholarship but also to his origins as the son of a pastor in the Evangelical Synod of North America, an expression of the Prussian Union. His people had come from Germany and settled in Missouri, which is where Eden was situated. It was a seminary that had been led by H. Richard Niebuhr and had educated his brother Reinhold. Together the Niebuhrs had a profound influence on the seminary. One thing to note here is that Kanagy doesn't take us chronologically through Brueggemann's life. We will come and go in time. But the chapter does introduce us to his childhood, at least briefly before taking us to Union Seminary. One thing that is very important to this story is the influence of his father, who was rather poorly trained and very poorly paid, but who was committed to his ministry and the importance of education for both Walter and his brother Edward. We also learn here that Brueggemann, who was brilliant, always felt a bit under-educated due to his origins. Of course, the success of The Prophetic Imagination changed all of that.

If the first chapter lays the foundation, the second chapter "Where Prophets Come From" takes us back to Brueggemann's origins. We gain a clearer insight into his childhood and education, along with the influence of his parents. One of the things we learn is that as a teenager, with the permission of his father, he and his brother would attend the black church on the edge of town, gaining insight into the lives of people different from him. That would influence his later commitment to social justice. We learn more here about his father's calling and the roots of the Evangelical Synod, which would later merge with the German Reformed Church before merging into the United Church of Christ. The churches that made up the Evangelical Synod had their origins in the Prussian Union, an ecumenical merger of Lutheran and Reformed churches in Prussian that took place in the nineteenth century. The pastors who led these churches in places like Missouri were originally missionary pastors who tended to be poorly educated and paid. While this was true of Brueggemann's father, his father made sure he was well-educated. Nevertheless, it is out of this ethos that a prophetic imagination was born in Brueggemann.

If Part 1 offers us Brueggemann’s origin story (and I've only hinted at what is there), in the three chapters in Part 2, we delve more fully into Brueggemann's scholarship. In chapter three titled "Imagination Everywhere" we discover that in a world of specialists, Brueggemann chose to be a generalist. This placed him at the edge of the academy, at least until the publication of The Prophetic Imagination. That book provided a platform for Brueggemann to speak to both the church and academy, prophetically telling each that they had been domesticated and needed liberating.

When I saw that a biography of Brueggemann was forthcoming, I knew I had to get a review copy from the publisher. I wanted to know what made him tick, and then share the news with others. Having read the book, I can say that I now have a better sense of Brueggemann’s life and message. As I read his story, I discerned both why I appreciated Brueggemann’s work and words, even as those words have at times made me feel rather uncomfortable. In many ways, it confirmed what I believed about him, but now I know more about the origins of his story. I also came to a better understanding of why I appreciate his work, and that is his commitment to the text of scripture. As a progressive Christian, I find some in my camp's attempts to distance themselves from scripture unsettling. It's not that we must embrace everything literally without interpretation, but scripture should be the touchstone of our faith. Brueggemann shows us how and why this is true. In that regard, Kanagy does a nice job connecting the dots. While I thoroughly enjoyed Kanagy’s biography—Walter Brueggemann’s Prophetic Imagination, I did discover several problematic editing issues. For instance, in several places, names were misspelled, such that at points he called Jim Wallis Jim Wallace. He also added an H to Reinhold Niebuhr’s name, calling him H. Reinhold. The H belongs with Richard, something he fails to do in the book. Additionally, there is a reference to the “Book of Hezekiah.” While he did discuss Hezekiah, there is no such book of Hezekiah (except in jokes). These are not big issues, but they detract from the story and could be avoided with a little better editing.  Despite these issues, I can say that I truly enjoyed reading Kanagy’s theological biography of one of the most influential scholars of our day. What he demonstrates with this biography is that there is much that can be said about Walter Brueggemann, despite Brueggemann’s suggestion otherwise. So, if Brueggemann has influenced you, you will want to read Walter Brueggemann’s Prophetic Imagination, even as you continue to read Brueggemann himself. 

2 Samuel 7:1-16 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

7 Now when the king was settled in his house and the Lord had given him rest from all his enemies around him, ² the king said to the prophet Nathan, “See now, I am living in a house of cedar, but the ark of God stays in a tent.” ³ Nathan said to the king, “Go, do all that you have in mind, for the Lord is with you.”

⁴ But that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan, ⁵ “Go and tell my servant David: Thus says the Lord: Are you the one to build me a house to live in? ⁶ I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent and a tabernacle. ⁷ Wherever I have moved about among all the people of Israel, did I ever speak a word with any of the tribal leaders of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar?’ ⁸ Now therefore thus you shall say to my servant David: Thus says the Lord of hosts: I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep to be prince over my people Israel, ⁹ and I have been with you wherever you went and have cut off all your enemies from before you, and I will make for you a great name, like the name of the great ones of the earth. ¹⁰ And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant them, so that they may live in their own place and be disturbed no more, and evildoers shall afflict them no more, as formerly, ¹¹ from the time that I appointed judges over my people Israel, and I will give you rest from all your enemies. Moreover, the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. ¹² When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come forth from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. ¹³ He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. ¹⁴ I will be a father to him, and he shall be a son to me. When he commits iniquity, I will punish him with a rod such as mortals use, with blows inflicted by human beings. ¹⁵ But I will not take my steadfast love from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. ¹⁶ Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever.”

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Note: As I write this reflection for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, this is that strange year when the Fourth Sunday and Christmas Eve fall on the same day. I realize that there will be some who choose to focus on Christmas Eve and skip the Fourth Sunday. Nevertheless, the readings for the Fourth Sunday remain important to the larger story.  

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                The Gospel reading from Luke 1 invites us to consider the annunciation to Mary by the Angel Gabriel that she will bear a child by way of the Holy Spirit, and this child will receive from God the throne of his ancestor David (Luke 1:26-38). The reading from 2 Samuel 7 serves as an anchor point for the Christian proclamation that Jesus is the Messiah, the heir of David. The reading from 2 Samuel 7 features a conversation between David, the king of Israel, and Nathan the prophet concerning David’s desire to build God a more permanent abode. After all, David has a nice house built of Cedar while God still lives in a tent fit for nomads. David is feeling a bit embarrassed by his good fortune while God lives in second-class quarters. The question is whether God is all that concerned. The reason this passage has been chosen for this occasion is that Christians have proposed Jesus to be David’s heir. Thus, the question is what the biblical passages about David might say about his messianic descendant.

                Our Advent readings from the Old Testament would not have been understood in their original context as prophetic messages about Jesus in particular. When we read passages like this at Advent, we are imposing a Christian lens on these texts. As we do this, we need to acknowledge our theological appropriation of these texts to help define the calling of Jesus. In seeking to honor both the original context and the Christian reinterpretation, I have included the entire passage, including the omitted verses running from verses 12 to 15. These verses focus on David and his heirs, including who will build a Temple for God instead of David, a descendant whom God might punish, but not to worry, God’s steadfast love wouldn’t be removed (just a reminder that the idea that God’s love is unconditional doesn’t begin with Jesus). Then comes the climactic word, the one the lectionary creators want us to hear: “Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever” (2 Sam. 7:16). Now by the time this account was written four hundred years after David’s death, David’s royal line had already come to an end with the Babylonian Exile. The Deuteronomic writers of this account envisioned the restoration of the monarchy, but that would never come to fruition.  

                According to our reading, David had built himself a nice palace made of Cedar. While he was living in luxury, he was concerned (embarrassed) that God still lived in a tent. The Ark of the Covenant, which Saul had lost in battle with the Philistines had been recovered, but alas it was housed in that old tent. At first, Nathan the Prophet, David’s chief spiritual advisor, encouraged him to get to work. Apparently, Nathan thought God would be pleased, but he later gets a word from God suggesting that God was quite happy living in a tent. After all, God had liberated the people from bondage in Egypt and then protected them, all the while being represented by the Ark and the Tent.  Now, as we see in the omitted verses, Nathan does relay God’s promise that David’s successor will build God a house (that successor would be Solomon).

                While the conversation gets started because David wants to build God a nice house out of Cedar, the message that fits with Advent is that final verse in the reading, the one that suggests that David’s line will endure forever (something that was currently in abeyance at the time the Book was written). Of course, the Temple that Solomon built lay in ruins, so it wasn’t eternal either. Nevertheless, the promise that God’s steadfast love will not be removed still stands. Whether the Temple or the Monarchy continues to exist is irrelevant to the promise that God is with the people. It’s that unconditional promise that gets lifted up as early Christians drew on texts like this to define Jesus’ ministry. The monarchy as an entity may not have been restored, but Jesus could embody the promise in messianic fashion.

Before we get to the messianic portion of our Advent appropriation of the passage, we might want to consider the word Nathan gave to David, that God doesn’t need a house to do what God needs to do. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have church buildings, but we best not assume God needs one. After all, God dwells in the people of God, not the building. We might also keep in mind our tendency to try to get ahead of God by making plans without consulting God. Perhaps we just assume that God will bless our plans (as a retired pastor I have been guilty of this in the past, and perhaps still do this in my current activities). We might even want to check our reasoning for wanting to do such a thing as build God a house. It does appear that David may have either been embarrassed that he had a nice house and God didn’t, or perhaps David just wanted to initiate another building project that would reflect well on him. My sense is that Herod built up the Jerusalem Temple not because God needed a fancier house, but because Herod wanted to have one of the wonders of the world that would reflect well on him. Might we want to build houses for God that reflect well on us? After all, what better sign of power and greatness than a religious edifice? Think for a moment about the great buildings of antiquity. Consider the Parthenon in Athens or Justinian’s Hagia Sophia. We might want to remember that Solomon, like Herod after him, built their temples on the backs of their subjects. We still build religious edifices—"gospels in stone”—but do they say more about us than God?

Again, when we read this in the context of Advent the focus is not on David’s building plans but God’s promise to build a different house. That house was David’s dynasty, a dynasty that died out with the exile. However, in the reading from the Gospel of Luke that is paired with 2 Samuel, Mary is told that she will have a child who will be called “the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor of David” (Luke 1:30-32). Not only that, but he will reign over the house of Jacob (Israel) forever, such that there will be no end to his kingdom (Lk 1:33). It is this word about Jesus’ eternal kingdom that connects the reading from Luke (and thus Jesus’ calling) with the promise made to David in 2 Samuel 7.

As we read this text in Advent through the lens of the incarnation, and the anointing of Mary’s child in the reading from Luke, it is important that we recognize that the Deuteronomic writers did not have Jesus in mind. Therefore, a Jewish reading of 2 Samuel will be different from a Christian one. If we can make that notation, it is possible for us to appropriate the passage to define Jesus’ messianic calling, which is revealed in the Advent/Christmas texts. The connection with David is an important one since the Messiah is understood to be the heir of David. Whatever David’s faults he is seen as the foundation of Israel as a nation and not simply a federation of tribes. As we ponder the passage it would be wise to return to the original conversation between David and Nathan, where David learns that his plans are out of sync with God’s. Nathan helps get him back on track so he can realize that God doesn’t need him to build houses, but that God will build an eternal house from him.

As we are moving toward the revelation of the birth of the Savior, it is worth noting that in Luke Jesus is homeless at the time of his birth. Then as an adult, engaged in ministry, he was an itinerant preacher without a place to call home. As we ponder the connection between the reading from 2 Samuel and the Gospel of Luke, we can consider this word from Eugene Bay:

Where in the world, where in our life as a congregation, where in one’s personal life, may God be wanting to do something that is being blocked by human aspirations and agendas, however seemingly noble? How receptive are we to the God who will not be confined or enshrined by retains and cherishes the freedom to surprise us—as om the coming of Christ down the back stairs of Bethlehem, to be born of Mary, grow up in the hick town of Nazareth, spend his time with the least, the lowly, and the lost, and, most surprising of all, become “obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross?” Could that same God be heading the church in new and unthought directions?   [Feasting on the Word, p. 78].

Before we cross the threshold to Christmas Eve, we might want to first ponder what Jesus’ calling really is.

Hail to the Lord's Anointed, great David's greater Son!
Hail, in the time appointed, his reign on earth begun!
He comes to break oppression, to set the captive free,
to take away transgressions, and rule in equity.

—“Hail to the Lord’s Anointed,” by James Montgomery (1821)

Image Attribution: Anonymous. King David, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55199 [retrieved December 15, 2023]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:K%C3%B6nig_David_vor_einem_Opferaltar_kniend.jpg.

REDEEMING VIOLENT VERSES: A Guide for Using TroublesomeTexts in Church and Ministry. By Eric A. Siebert. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2023. X + 186 pages.

The Bible is a complicated book. First of all, it is an anthology of literature that spans perhaps a thousand years, depending on how you date different books you find in the two testaments of the canon accepted by most Christian communities. One thing that a close look at the materials found inside this anthology, which many of us consider to be sacred scripture, is the amount of violence contained within. Just to be clear, it's not just the Old Testament that has violent passages. It's everywhere. In fact, there’s so much violence, including sexual violence that I'm surprised there haven’t been more efforts to ban it from libraries, especially school libraries.  After all, you can find stories in the Bible that describe and at times celebrate massacres and even attempted genocide. There are stories of incest, rape, and murder. So, if you read the text of Scripture flatly as if everything is equally authoritative, then you may find yourself facing numerous problems.

When it comes to preaching and selecting scripture readings for worship, there is a tendency, at least in my circles, to avoid the more violent and disconcerting passages. This is especially true for preachers, who like me, have used the lectionary to guide their selection of texts. The creators of the Revised Common Lectionary have done a pretty good job of filtering out the most violent and problematic passages. That’s one of the reasons you won't find many readings from Joshua and Judges. While avoiding problematic passages is understandable, is it wise? That is the question raised by Eric Siebert in Redeeming Violent Verses.

Eric Seibert is an Old Testament scholar who teaches at an evangelical college—Messiah College. He believes that avoiding violent passages in church settings is a mistake. Here’s the reason—if churches and their leaders (pastors) fail to tackle such passages, when people in their congregation discover such passages, they might be in for a big surprise and not know what to do with such passages. Now, if your people don’t read the Bible, perhaps that’s not a problem, but if you believe (as I do) that people should the Bible then it’s important that they have some guidance so they will know how to handle difficult passages, especially ones that describe God acting violently. Such encounters with violent passages could prove to be faith-destroying. It is with this concern in mind, that Eric Seibert wants to redeem the violent passages present in the Bible. To do this he wants to bring them into the church's conversation.

Preachers might find some of these passages distasteful, but sanitizing the Bible is not helpful. Now, bringing these passages into the church’s conversation is not meant to be a justification for the actions described. Instead, the goal is to help people handle violent passages in responsible ways. This might involve rejecting violence, even if it appears that the violence depicted seems to be justified as standing in line with the wisdom of God. Therefore, Siebert’s goal in writing this book is to help religious leaders "find constructive ways to use violent biblical texts responsibly when preaching, teaching, and leading worship" (p. 7).

While Seibert acknowledges there are violent passages in the New Testament he has chosen to focus on the Old Testament. He does this for two reasons. First, there are more violent passages in the Old Testament than in the New Testament. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, he is an Old Testament scholar. In entering this conversation Siebert mainly focuses on passages in which violence is directed at people. This violence, found in scripture, is carried out both by God and people. While some of the violence is portrayed as wrongful, other acts of violence are understood by the biblical authors to be virtuous. The latter form of violence is usually portrayed as being justified and even praiseworthy. It’s important to note that Siebert uses quotation marks around the word "virtuous" because these forms of violence do not fit his understanding of God’s nature. In other words, when we engage passages like this, we likely read them through theological lenses. For him that lens is love.

Seibert divides the book's nine chapters into three parts. Part 1 is titled "Understanding Why the Church Should Not Ignore Violent passages." The two chapters in this chapter serve as an introduction to the purpose of the book. In chapter 1 he introduces the problem of the vanishing violent verses. That is the tendency of preachers and teachers to avoid the violent verses found in Scripture. The problem here is that “when violent biblical passages are sanitized, the troubling parts of the story are omitted or mentioned only briefly in passing. There is no real discussion of the violence or of the kind of problems that violent verses raise for modern readers” (p. 5). The remainder of the book helps us understand why this is problematic and how we can address passages that contain violence. Chapter 2 addresses the problem mentioned in Chapter 1 by asking "Why Bother with Violent Verses?” He begins by asking why the texts are missing and then addresses why we might want to use such texts in church. He suggests several reasons including helping people read and interpret the entire Bible. That is, it’s a teaching moment. Secondly, it is required if we are to have integrity in what we assert about Scripture. It also bolsters the church’s credibility. In other words, our failure to deal with such texts can be seen as a breach of trust. Then there is simply the need to encourage people to wrestle with such texts. In his view (and mine), we should be troubled by such texts, especially ones that ascribe to God violent behavior that runs counter to the commandment to love our neighbors. Dealing with such texts is also required if we’re going to address obstacles to faith. He writes that some obstacles can be removed if we explain that “not every portrayal of God in the Bible reveals what God is actually like” (p. 23). These and other reasons offered answer the question of why deal with violent passages, but there is more to discuss.

Part 2 of Siebert’s Redeeming Violent Verses is titled “Finding Ways to Use Violent Biblical Texts Responsibly in Church.” This section of the book reminds us that this isn’t just a book about violent Bible passages. This is a practical-level book. In many ways, this is the heart of the book. It contains four chapters. The first of these chapters (chapter 3) introduces us to seven constructive ways to use a violent biblical text. These include demonstrating why violence is harmful, considering ways to respond to violence, developing compassion for victims of violence, talking about difficult topics, raising awareness of violence while acting to stop it, warning against using violent texts to do harm, and making personal connections and applications. Each of these suggested ways of using a violent text is quite helpful. It's not about justifying violence, but rather a call to deal with violence in responsible ways. The fourth chapter focuses on how we might use violent stories with children. It's important to remember that we've been using violent stories with children forever. Think about the stories we encountered as children, stories like David and Goliath, Noah and the Ark, and what about Samson and the Philistines. Sanitizing these stories is not helpful, but if we are to use such stories with children, they need to be age-appropriate methods (and teachers and pastors need to be ready and willing to address questions from children). There is also a chapter on using violent verses in worship, offering guidance on when, where, and how to use such verses in songs, Scripture readings, and prayers, including calls to worship (chapter 5). Finally, this section of the book includes words of guidance for preachers, many of whom are grateful the lectionary steers us clear of such passages. Fortunately, Seibert offers suggestions as to how to deal with such passages in sermons (and he suggests we take up such texts much more often than we currently do). Among the words of wisdom here is to make sure preachers offer trigger warnings, usually well before the day of the sermon.

Part 3 is titled “Exploring Sample Texts and Talking about Violent Portrayals of God.” The first of the three chapters in this section (Chapter 7) invites us to consider several texts and apply to them what we’ve learned to that point in Redeeming Violent Verses. The stories include Sodom as well as Jezebel's involvement in the execution of Naboth, where she seeks to take his land. He also addresses the story of Daniel and the Lion's Den, including the fate of those who caused Daniel to be thrown into the lion's den. While Daniel is rescued, the same is not true of his enemies and their families. It’s good that Daniel is rescued but is vengeance warranted? The final chapter in the book addresses passages dealing with God's violent behavior. While we might not imagine God acting violently, or at least we might not embrace the idea that God acts violently, there are passages in Scripture where God does exactly that. Whether we want to or not, we will have to deal with such portrayals of God's violence, especially if we lean towards nonviolence. In response to these concerns, Siebert suggests ways of deconstructing violent views, including contextualizing them, suggesting that God might not have done everything attributed to God, and differentiating between the textual and the actual God (I will note here that Seibert does not engage with Walter Brueggemann, who is much more willing to keep these two together), finally, he suggests that we use Jesus as the lens through which to evaluate portrayals of God. On this last word of advice, while I largely agree with him, I am wary of pushing this too far. Progressives can fall into Marcionite traps that separate Jesus from the Old Testament. Seibert tries to avoid that trap, but at points, I thought he crept rather close to the line. Part of the problem here is that he focuses largely on Old Testament portrayals of violence and then largely skirts the issue of violence in the New Testament, including declarations of judgment and consignments to eternal punishment on the part of Jesus. Seibert approaches these questions from a particular perspective (Open and Relational) that others might not take up. Having read a biography of Brueggemann that contrasts his views with his friend Terry Fretheim, it is interesting that Seibert ignores Brueggemann and draws at one point on Fretheim.

Overall, I find this to be a very helpful book. I agree that when we ignore uncomfortable passages, especially the violent ones, in church settings, we can set up folks for unsettling encounters with the Bible. These can be destructive to a person’s faith in God. Therefore, being introduced to such passages and having some guidance as to how a person might approach them will be very valuable. For preachers and teachers who are uncomfortable with such passages themselves, Siebert provides a word of encouragement as well as constructive ways of dealing with such passages.

As I came to the final chapter of Siebert’s Redeeming Violent Verses, another recently published book came to mind that might be profitably read along with Siebert’s. That book is Esther Hamori's God's Monsters: Vengeful Spirits, Deadly Angels, Hybrid Creatures, and Divine Hitmen of the Bible (Broadleaf Books, 2023). Hamori’s book is very different in purpose, but it expands the boundaries of ways in which the biblical authors viewed God. When used together I believe that preachers will benefit greatly. Dealing with violent biblical texts might not be high on anyone’s agenda, but even if we ignore them, they’re still there. Thus,in Redeeming Violent Verses,  Eric Siebert invites us to take off the blinders and deal with them! That will be good medicine for all of us, even if we don’t like the taste!

John 1:6-8, 19-28 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

⁶ There was a man sent from God whose name was John. ⁷ He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. ⁸ He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

¹⁹ This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” ²⁰ He confessed and did not deny it, but he confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” ²¹ And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” ²² Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” ²³ He said,

“I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,

‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’”

as the prophet Isaiah said.

²⁴ Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. ²⁵ They asked him, “Why, then, are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” ²⁶ John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, ²⁷ the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandal.” ²⁸ This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

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The Gospel of John, like the Gospel of Mark, lacks an infancy narrative. What it does offer, unlike Mark is an opening prologue providing a theological foundation for what gets revealed in his Gospel. However, like Mark, he kicks things off by turning to John the Baptist, who testifies to the light that is the Christ. His discussion of John’s preparatory work is couched in that theological context that begins with the words:

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was in the beginning with God. ³ All things came into being through him, and without him, not one thing came into being. What has come into being ⁴ in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it. (Jn.1:1-5).

This is the light to which John bears witness. This is the “light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it,” the Word who was God, and through whom all things came into existence. As John recounts in verse 14, “The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14).

                While the insertion of John the Baptist's ministry into the opening prologue seems like an interruption of an otherwise smooth discussion of the Word of God who becomes flesh, in the mind of the writer of this Gospel, if we are to truly understand the mission of John the Baptist, we need to see it contextually within the revealing of the one who bears light in the darkness. While he is not the messiah; he is the one who points toward the messiah who is the light-bearer. And this person whom John is preparing the way for is the Word made flesh. The light we see is his glory that radiates into the world. 

                If John’s prologue runs from verses 1-18, then the Gospel proper begins in verse 19, which declares: “This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” (Jn. 1:19). The remainder of the passage seeks to answer that question. Who is this John who baptizes in the Jordan? In terms of the relationship between the opening words about John the Baptist within the prologue, Karl Barth writes, concerning the odd placement of this discussion of John’s ministry within the prologue: “But they are in fact there, and there can be no doubt but that it is they that give the prologue the concrete appearance with which we have to reckon. They are important. The author has an urgent concern to say what they say. This is true even if, as Bultmann has assumed, 3 they are to be viewed as marginal corrections or strengthenings which the author added to an older work that he adopted and revised” [Barth, Witness to the Word: A Commentary on John 1, (pp. 22-23 Kindle Edition)].

                As we ponder this lectionary reading for the Third Sunday of Advent, the reference to light is important. Of course, December is the month in which the Winter Solstice falls in the Northern Hemisphere. Darkness comes early as the hours of daylight are shorter than the rest of the year. Many of us long for the return of the light of day when the darkness of winter gives way to the light of spring and summer (yes, I enjoy daylight savings time). Christians living in the Southern Hemisphere might see things differently, but the metaphor is a good one, for it speaks of our longing for the coming of the one who will reveal the fullness of God’s glory to all creation. The author of this Gospel understood the power of light and cast Jesus as a light-bearer, with John as the witness to that light that shined into the darkness. 

                When we think about the connection of Advent, a season that includes (in the Northern Hemisphere) increased darkness, to light, it is appropriate then that we include in our worship services the lighting of candles. Week by week we light the candles that traditionally signify hope, peace, joy, and then love. These four qualities define the light that comes into our world through Jesus the Christ, whom we welcome into our lives on Christmas Eve/Christmas Day when Christians gather to light the Christ Candle. As the fifth verse of Mary Ann Parrot’s Advent/Christmas hymn declares:

Come, listen, the sounds of God with us ring clear,

and signs of a cross in the distance appear,

The Word once made flesh, yet the Word ever near,

One candle is lit for the Christ-birthday here.

[Mary Anne Parrott, “One Candle Is Lit,” 1995 Chalice Press].  

Of course, we’re not quite ready to light the Christ Candle. The Third Sunday invites us to light the Candle of Joy, which according to a Brian Wren hymn “is a song that welcomes the dawn, telling the world that the Savior is born” [Wren, “When God is a Child,” 1985]. 

The Gospel of John suggests that the people of Israel were looking for light. They simply wondered if John was that light bearer whom they sought. So, they wondered if he was a prophet like Elijah or the Messiah himself.  John made it clear that he wasn’t the light itself. He was instead the one called by God to testify to the light that was coming into the world.

                In John’s telling of the story of the Word of God made flesh (John 1:14), this other John, the Baptist, is portrayed as the one who cries in the wilderness, the one who makes straight the way of the Lord. In making this declaration, John reaches back to Isaiah 40, a passage that speaks first and foremost to exiles who are promised that they will return to their homeland. The pathway from Babylon to Jerusalem will be prepared so that the people can make their way on level ground. When this happens, “the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken” (Is. 40:5). This reading from Isaiah 40 was paired with a reading from Mark 1 on the Second Sunday of Advent by the Lectionary creators, but it is an equally valuable source for John as well as Mark. The point here is that the light that shines into the darkness is the glory of the LORD, which is revealed in the person of the Word made flesh.

                The section of the reading that runs from verses 19 to 28 more fully introduces us to John the Baptist, who is asked whether he is the Messiah or a prophet. Rather he is the voice crying in the wilderness. That leads to the question of why (on what authority was he acting if not the prophet or Messiah?) he was baptizing people with water. John answers that question, which the author of the Gospel (there are too many Johns involved), by pointing them to the one who is coming after him, the one whom he (John the Baptist) is not worthy enough to untie the thong of the sandal of the one who is coming. This conversation took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was carrying out his ministry of baptism. The reading stops short of John’s full witness. Verses 29-34 take place the following day when John the Baptist points to Jesus and speaks of him as the “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” While this part of John 1 points beyond John’s initial calling, it might be worth including these verses in a sermon. After all, it is in these verses that John the Baptist gets to actually point out Jesus to the interested parties. Barth points out that the second portion of the reading has two clearly discernible parts. “First vv. 19– 28 tell us what the Baptist’s witness was to himself, the shadow cast by the light. Then vv. 29– 34 contain the witness proper, namely, the Baptist’s witness to Jesus” (Witness to the Word, p. 161]. Our reading focuses on John’s description of his mission, while the verses that follow describe Jesus’ ministry as the “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” That part of the story will have to wait for another time.

                The focus here is one bearing witness to the light, which is revealed in the person of the Word of God made flesh. It is John the Baptist’s calling and it is ours. John roots the authority of his baptismal activity in the coming of one whom the questioners do not know, but who is greater than John. While this is John’s calling at that moment, it is also our calling. We too are called upon to testify to the light, recognizing that we are not the light itself. Instead, we are bearers of the light. In the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) Jesus speaks of not placing a lamp under a bushel or a bed or some other entity to hide the lamp. Instead, you let it shine. The reading from Matthew puts it quite nicely:  “¹⁵ People do not light a lamp and put it under the bushel basket; rather, they put it on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Mt. 5:15-16).

                Many Christians place their lamps under bushels or beds. Many find it difficult to testify to their faith. In part that is due to a fear that they might offend another by talking about their faith. They may also struggle to define what they believe. So, many adopt the principle that religion is something we should keep private. But is that the best approach? Might one speak confidently about what one’s faith means without suggesting that the beliefs of another are somehow less valuable? The problem is that when we remain quiet and keep the lamp under the bushel basket, we let others define what it means to be a Christian.

                John heard the call and went down to the Jordan where he baptized people and bore witness to the one who would come after him. That would be the light of the world, which was and is coming into the world to reveal the fullness of God’s glory. May we embrace the call to testify to that light along with John the Baptist.

 1 On Jordan’s bank the Baptist’s cry
announces that the Lord is nigh;
awake and hearken, for he brings
glad tidings of the King of kings!

2 Then cleansed be every life from sin;
make straight the way for God within,
and let us all our hearts prepare
for Christ to come and enter there.

3 We hail you as our Savior, Lord,
our refuge and our great reward;
without your grace we waste away
like flowers that wither and decay.

4 Stretch forth your hand; our health restore,
and make us rise to fall no more.
O let your face upon us shine
and fill the world with love divine.

—Translator: John Chandler; Author: Charles Coffin

 Glory to God: the Presbyterian Hymnal #96

 Image Attribution Mary Jane Miller. John the Baptist, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=59675 [retrieved December 10, 2023]. Original source: Mary Jane Miller, https://www.millericons.com/.

THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO JAMES BALDWIN: What America’s Great Prophet Can Teach Us about Life, Love, and Identity. By Greg Garrett. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2023. 184 pages.

There are times when a book emerges that offers a necessary word to our society/culture. This is especially true at moments when we need reminding that racism is still an ever-present problem in our context. While some of us thought that the election of Barack Obama might usher in a new age, where race would not be a central concern, we were wrong. Instead of entering a post-racial world, we entered an age of racial angst and unrest when the tables in many cases have been turned, such that it is common to hear white folks call people of color racists. Yes, we live at a time when many white Americans feel persecuted and put upon, and they’re not backing down. So, it’s at moments like this that we need to hear voices that speak the truth, even if it makes us uncomfortable. Some of those voices no longer walk in our midst, but they have left testimony that needs to be heard. Among those figures of the recent past who have spoken the truth is James Baldwin, an African-American author/essayist and activist.

Garrett is the Carole McDaniel Hanks Professor of Literature and Culture at Baylor University. He is also a visiting fellow at Oxford University’s Centre for Religion and Culture and serves as Canon Theologian at the American Cathedral of the Holy Trinity in Paris. It is in the context of his vocation that Garrett has spent much time studying and teaching the life and literature of James Baldwin.

Garrett begins and ends his book by engaging in a pilgrimage that allows him to experience the footsteps of James Baldwin. As an author, Garrett is white, straight, and relatively orthodox in his Christian theology. Baldwin was Black, Gay, and not traditional, though he grew up with a stepfather who was a preacher and spent some time as a teen preaching in Black churches. So, Baldwin knew the Christian message and, in many ways, lived it better than most. Although one of the country’s most important authors, it would not surprise me to see his works banned from school libraries because they did not fall in line with current trends. However, as Garrett notes, based on teaching Baldwin to his Baylor students, "We experience an enlargement of what it means to be human in Baldwin's presence, gain burgeoning insights into why we might be here, what we are made for, how transcendence feels, what beauty is, how we're meant to live with each other, how are called to love each other and to be responsible for each other" (p. 5). Such is the Gospel according to James Baldwin.

To read The Gospel According to James Baldwin in essence takes us on a pilgrimage through Baldwin’s life and work. After couching what is to come in terms of a pilgrimage, in the second chapter of the book Garrett introduces us to "The Life of James Baldwin." According to Garrett, Baldwin was born in Harlem in 1924, the grandson of a slave, and never knew his biological father. Garrett points out that Baldwin "knew from an early age that he was Black and that he was smart, and that if he was going to escape the crippling poverty and his family endured, ...it was going to have to be through that intelligence." (p. 11). While he never pursued education beyond high school, he became one of America's great intellectuals. That intellect was on full display when he held his own in a debate with the Yale-educated conservative and founder of the National Review, William F. Buckley. His writing talent was recognized early and nurtured by one of his teachers. As he moved into adulthood, he began his writing career, publishing essays in major magazines. Nonetheless, he came to believe that if he stayed in the US he would end up on a path to self-destruction, so he boarded a ship to France, where he lived as an expatriate in Paris. It was there that while he struggled financially, he met a young Swiss artist who was the love of his life. It was while living in Switzerland that he finished his first novel Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953), a book that made his name. Garrett takes us from there through Baldwin's life, lifting up his written work and experiences of life, much of which was spent in the south of France. But his spirit still lives, and his voice still speaks.

In a chapter titled "Baldwin as Prophet of Humanity," Garrett reveals Baldwin's own sense of purpose. That was to be a prophet in line with Jeremiah. In this role, he sought to call people to account on matters of race and justice, identity, and culture. He claimed that it was because of his love of America that he felt called to engage in perpetual criticism of the nation by reminding white Americans of their delusions of innocence (such sentiment might not sit well with many white Americans today). As a prophet, Baldwin also spoke to matters of culture. Garrett writes that "For Baldwin, art, literature, and culture are central ways we understand ourselves and the world we occupy, and so he held his roles as artist and critic to be sacred" (p. 28). He believed that good art enlarges us while bad art puts us in cages. Thus, he could be highly critical of art and literature that he felt did not enlarge. He was concerned when art, literature, and film glossed over hard truths, wanting them to depict society critically and honestly. That's what he sought to do as he addressed matters of race, faith, and identity.

The title of the book speaks of the Gospel, and so we might expect some words on matters of faith. Garett doesn't disappoint us as he offers a chapter titled "Baldwin on Faith." According to Garrett, this former teen preacher might leave the church behind as an adult, but he speaks in his works to matters of faith and uses the "language of church, the Bible, and theology" in his works. Among the works I wish were available is an unfinished play titled "Welcome Table," which speaks to matters I'm concerned about (an open eucharistic table). Perhaps we can learn something from his separation from institutionalized Christianity, as he bore witness to the failings of both white and black churches. Garrett points out that "To the end of his life, Baldwin spoke of the concept of the welcome table, a place where this brotherhood and sisterhood, this kind of live, this kind of unity might be possible" (p. 79).

As one might expect, Baldwin devoted much of his life and work, his literature and his activism, to matters of race. He experienced the full impact of racism and addressed it, even as the Civil Rights Movement was fully underway. He reminds us that racism has been with us as a nation from the beginning, and unfortunately, it continues to be with us long after his death. Nevertheless, Baldwin helps us wrestle with this stain on our society. Baldwin believed, rightly so, that race is a social construct that has been erected by white folks to subjugate Black people and other people of color. This construct has damaged both Black and White. One of the stories Garrett tells involves a meeting in 1963 that Baldwin helped set up with Bobby Kennedy, who was, at the time, still the Attorney General, with a set of influential African Americans. What we see here is that Kennedy called the meeting in many ways to let this group of African-American thought leaders know how much he and the administration had done and was taken aback when his conversation partners challenged him. It serves as a reminder of how well-meaning white people fail to truly understand the realities experienced by people of color. Despite everything he experienced he remained optimistic about the future. Unfortunately, that optimism has suffered from a racist backlash that has taken place in recent years. Nevertheless, he offers a witness that addresses where we fall short. Related to matters of race, Garrett takes us to a discussion of "Baldwin on Justice." Here we discover that Baldwin spoke not only to race but to other matters of injustice, including poverty and incarceration. He invites us to speak out.

Besides writing about faith, race, and justice, Baldwin also addressed questions of identity. Garrett points out that if we examine closely the titles of many of Baldwin's works, we will discover they speak to a lack of knowing and being known. When it came to identity, when being interviewed, Baldwin often resisted defining himself. According to Garrett’s analysis, in Baldwin’s mind, there will come a day "when we reach that New Jerusalem, when we all sit at the Welcome Table, there will be no need for names, labels, distinctions, or identities that divide or group us. Not the ones imposed on us by others, nor the ones we chose to use to define ourselves" (p. 143). Of course, we're not there yet, so the question of identity continues to be a matter of concern for Baldwin and us. Therefore, as we examine his works, including his final unfinished play “The Welcome Table,” we discern Baldwin’s desire for us to reject the status quo and "work toward a future where hatred and prejudice will, always, be overwhelmed by love" (p. 160). That is Gospel.

Garrett closes The Gospel According to James Baldwin, where he began. That would be on pilgrimage. His pilgrimage with Baldwin takes him to Leukerbad in the Swiss Alps. It is there, where Baldwin went early in life, that Garrett decided to set aside for the moment the book I’m reviewing and finished a novel he had been working on for six years. It was there in Leukerbad that Baldwin put the finishing touches on his first novel, Go Tell It on the Mountain. Thus, he returns to this important place in Baldwin's life to reflect on Baldwin's influence on his own life and work. While Baldwin might be an unlikely saint, Garrett believes that is exactly what he is. As he writes: "Saints are not saints because they're picture-perfect. They're saints because they show up and put their hands in the real and get them dirty. And they're saints because they inspire us." (p. 164). This is what Garrett believes St. James Baldwin does in his life and his works. With that, Greg Garrett invites us to explore the Gospel that James Baldwin revealed in his life and works even if he might be an unlikely saint. 

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

61 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me
    because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
    to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
    and release to the prisoners,
² to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
    to comfort all who mourn,
³ to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
    to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
    the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
⁴ They shall build up the ancient ruins;
    they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
    the devastations of many generations.

⁸ For I, the Lord, love justice,
    I hate robbery and wrongdoing;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
    and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.
⁹ Their descendants shall be known among the nations
    and their offspring among the peoples;
all who see them shall acknowledge
    that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed.
¹⁰ I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;
    my whole being shall exult in my God,
for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
    he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland
    and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
¹¹ For as the earth brings forth its shoots
    and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
    to spring up before all the nations.

*************

                As we continue our journey through Advent, we return to the message of the prophet we call Third Isaiah, a prophet who offered words of hope and guidance to a group of exiles returning from Babylon. This Spirit-anointed prophet, the identity of whom is not known, speaks of vindication and the restoration of a nation. Good news will be proclaimed to an oppressed people who will experience liberation and freedom. Vengeance will be meted out toward the oppressors, and devastated cities will be repaired. All of this will happen because the Spirit will anoint the prophet/people. Thus, the people can rejoice in the Lord because God will have “clothed me with the garments of salvation.” The opening line of this passage will sound familiar because Jesus drew upon them, according to Luke’s Gospel, to define his own ministry during a synagogue service in Nazareth (Luke 4:16-30). Now, if you consult Luke’s Gospel, you will discover that the home folks did not receive Jesus’ message with open arms.

                While Luke’s Jesus draws on Isaiah 61 to define his call to ministry, which is why it appears here during Advent, the prophet had in mind a different application when sharing this word with the returning exiles. It is this prophet known to scholars as Third Isaiah who announced the good news to Israel, sharing God’s promise that they would, as an oppressed people, experience healing of their broken hearts, even as God liberates the captives and proclaims a Jubilee year while wreaking vengeance on Israel’s oppressors. Yes, God will comfort those who mourn in Zion, providing them with a garland rather than ashes. In other words, things will be different now that they can rebuild their cities and set aside the “devastations of many generations” (vs. 4).

                As often happens with the lectionary, a portion is omitted that is troubling. We want to celebrate the liberating action of God, but words of vengeance are less satisfying. Thus, the lectionary omits verses 5-7. However, these are important words for us to ponder. So, I will provide them here:

⁵ Strangers shall stand and feed your flocks;
    foreigners shall till your land and dress your vines,
⁶ but you shall be called priests of the Lord;
    you shall be named ministers of our God;
you shall enjoy the wealth of the nations,
    and in their riches you shall glory.
⁷ Because their shame was double
    and dishonor was proclaimed as their lot,
therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion;
    everlasting joy shall be theirs. (Is. 61:5-7)

In these three verses, we hear that foreigners will care for the flocks and tend the land, while Israel serves as priests and enjoys the nations' wealth. Indeed, the oppressors will experience a double share of shame, while the people of Israel will experience a double portion of everlasting joy.

                With Israel being told that they will be a priestly nation, while their neighbors serve them, Isaiah returns to a word to the people letting them know that God loves justice, while hating robbery and wrongdoing. It is with this defining characteristic that God makes a covenant with the people so that their descendants would be known among the nations as the ones God had blessed. The overall message here is that a day of jubilee will be proclaimed for Israel (the Jewish people), while a day of vengeance will bring down judgment upon their oppressors. In other words, Israel will experience vindication.  

                One theme runs through the passage and that is God’s concern for justice. It would seem that in the view of Third Isaiah, the Babylonian exile was unjust and now God is rectifying the situation by sending the anointed one (Isaiah?) so that the people might be liberated and comforted. This is an important word for us to hear as followers of Jesus. God is concerned about justice. God liberates. God cares about what happens to the oppressed. Here’s the thing, we the followers of Jesus are God’s hands and feet. It is our calling to address the questions of justice facing us, including income inequality, and racism (it is sad that we’re seeing concern for racism in our country turned on its head so that it’s white folks like me who are victims of racism). There is also continued sexual harassment as well as growing resistance to expanding rights for gay, lesbian, and especially trans folk. Then there is increasing anti-immigrant sentiment here and abroad. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. The list has grown long enough that many of us have grown weary trying to respond. But if Jesus is called by God, anointed by the Spirit, to proclaim good news to the oppressed, shouldn’t that be our calling as well?

                Yet, there is good news. There in verse 10, the prophet proclaims, “I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my whole being shall exult in my God.” The reason the prophet can rejoice greatly and exult in God with his entire being is that God has “clothed me with the garments of salvation,” and “has covered me with the robe of righteousness.” Indeed, God will bedeck “himself with a garland” like a bridegroom, and “adorns herself with jewels” like a bride” (Is. 61:10). Can you not see in this imagery a festive occasion where the people celebrate? Now this word of salvation is addressed to the people and involves a restoration of the nation and not the kind of personal salvation Christians often envision. Nevertheless, it can be a both/and situation. We don’t live in isolation from one another. Our experience of healing (salvation) takes place within a healed community. So, as William Brown notes, “Zion thus obtains a new identity as one uniquely blessed by God. The clothes make the city” [Feasting on the Word, p. 55].

                We hear this good news that God is at work bringing liberation and freedom to the oppressed, while pursuing justice and bringing salvation to the people such that they can celebrate, as if at a wedding, during Advent. Again, it is important to remember that this liturgical season, which can easily get lost in the shuffle as we race toward Christmas, is a time of preparation. It’s a time to pause and to reflect. This word is given to a people who seek the restoration of their nation after decades of oppression and exile. This is a people who have experienced devastation. The city of Jerusalem (Zion) lay in ruins. The Temple that had been the center of the nation’s life lay in ruins as well. Where would the people find hope? Indeed, where is God in all of this?

We hear this word during an era when people are feeling uncertain about the future. There is a wariness about what might happen to us. Authoritarianism is on the rise and is attracting many in unlikely places, including the United States, where growing numbers of people would welcome an authoritarian figure (Donald Trump?) who would in their minds “straighten things out.” Perhaps this Advent season can provide us with an opportunity to reflect on this feeling of discontent. We can ask the question where is God even as we attend to this promise that God is at work, liberating the captives. Since Jesus embraced the message of this passage as the definition of his own ministry, might we see in this passage a calling to follow in his footsteps, and embrace the work of justice and righteousness. Then, we can rejoice in the Lord, whom Christmas reveals to us as the one born in a barn.   

Most of the readings for Advent, especially those from Isaiah, have an eschatological dimension. That is especially true of this passage. It was recognized not only by early Christians but others including the Qumran Community. One of the Dead Sea Scrolls applies Isaiah 61 to a messiah figure. Tyler Mayfield points out that “The scrolls from Qumran demonstrate how a messianic reading of certain biblical texts was beginning to take shape in the Second Temple period of Judaism” [Mayfield, Unto Us a Child Is Born, p. 115]. Then, of course, there is the direct quote in Luke 4, which Jesus applies to himself. Thus, as Mayfield points out, based on the apocalyptic reading of the passage that was present in the first-century context, “The rejection that he encounters is not the rejection of a prophetic or kingly leadership that offers good news to the poor. Their rejection is of their hometown son as this leader” [Unto Us a Child Is Born, pp. 117]. In other words, they knew the family and didn’t expect a hometown kid to be the messiah.

 Because the Advent readings prepare us not only for the first advent but the second advent as well, it reminds us that God’s realm is both present with us and not yet with us, at least in its fullness. In whatever way we envision the coming of God’s realm, whether with a literal return of Christ or not, Advent reminds us that even as we celebrate the incarnation and the coming of Emmanuel at Christmas, is a beginning and not the end of the story. A passage like this one, even though it does suggest that the foreigners will be the servants, invites us to participate in the work of God in the world, for that is our priestly role.

Advent has eschatological elements that remind us that God is interested not only in the past but the future. The promise is rooted in events of the past, but our hope lies not in the past but in God’s future. So, we wait for that future to unfold. As it unfolds, we can watch for signs that the Realm of God is present and hear the call to join God in expanding that realm by proclaiming in word and deed the good news that God is in the business of liberation. The Gospel reading that is paired with Isaiah 61 is John 1:6-8, 19-28. This passage focuses on the ministry of John the Baptist who came into the world to bear witness to the light and did so through the ministry of baptism. The candle we light on the Third Sunday of Advent is the Candle of Joy. The good news proclaimed that the one who is anointed by the Spirit to bring liberation and healing to the people truly does lead to joy.  

We sing in response to this reading:

Hail to the Lord’s anointed, great David’s greater Son!

Hail in the time appointed, his reign on earth begun!

He comes to break oppression, to set the captives free,

To take away transgressions, and rule in equity.

—James Montgomery, 1822

THE BEAUTIFUL MADNESS OF MARTIN BONHAM: A Tale about Loving God. By Robert Hudson. Hannacroix, NY: Apocryphile Press, 2023. 265 pages.

How do we love God? That’s a good theological question. If we turn to the Bible, we find guidance. Of course, it’s easier to speak of loving God than actually living out that love. After all, God remains unseen. Nevertheless, it is a question worth pondering. There are different ways of exploring the question. One way is through fiction. With that in mind, Robert Hudson offers us a particularly enjoyable (at least in my estimation and I don’t read a lot of fiction) with his book The Beautiful Madness of Martin Bonham.

I read and review a lot of books, but reviewing a book of fiction is more challenging than reviewing non-fiction. That’s because part of the enjoyment of reading fiction is following the plotline without knowing where the plot leads. In other words, a reviewer mustn’t reveal any spoilers. I can give some hints, but I don’t want to spoil the fun. Now in this case the subtitle reveals to us that loving God is a key theme. This idea of loving God is explored through the personal dynamics present in an educational setting. In this case that setting is the fictional third-tier Cupperton University. It sets the faculty, staff, and students of two departments, one being a seminary and the other an upstart department of “Theophily.” That would be the study of the love of God. You wouldn’t think that the study of loving God could get nasty, and yet it does. Where that leads in the end must be left open for the reader to discover. What I can say is that sometimes personal rivalries can get in the way of truly loving God. After all, loving God does involve loving one another. That’s biblical!

Before I say more about the book, The Beautiful Madness of Martin Bonham, I would like to introduce the author of this lovely book. Robert Hudson served as a book editor at Zondervan/Harper Collins Christian Books for thirty-four years. He is the author of several books, including The Christian Writer’s Manual of Style (Zondervan), along with twelve other books including Seeing Jesus (Broadleaf). He has written nonfiction, poetry, and as well as fiction. Thus, he is a versatile writer.

What I can tell you about this novel is that it is written in the form of a personal narrative. While several chapters invite other characters to add to the story through their own narratives, the focus here is on the effort made to create a university department drawing from professors across the university (but not the seminary) that explores different aspects of what it means to love God. The central character in the story is Martin Bonham, a middle-aged English professor at this fictional college. I can imagine him being portrayed by Paul Giamatti in a film version of the book. Bonham is a lifelong bachelor known for having created an annotated collection of works by 15th-century English mystics. He teaches a course at the college on the English mystics for the English Department, a course that is despised by the dean of the seminary. That would be Dr. Cornelius Dunwoody, a man of stature with several doctorates.

The story told here is rooted in a conversation that takes place when one of Dunwoody’s prize students, Katie Wescott, approaches Bonham seeking guidance because she is having doubts about God and her calling. She comes to Bonham because she is taking his course on the mystics. Well, their conversation leads to a journey of discovery and conversations across the campus asking people, especially faculty, how they know they love God. These conversations led to the creation of a Department of Theophily, which as I noted above, draws on the resources of the college (mostly professors Bonham and Katie queried) to teach courses that reflect on ways we love God. This effort gets the attention of the curmudgeonly chair of the university's seminary, who doesn't think much of a department that lacks, what he believes is, theological sophistication. He commits himself to doing everything he can to make sure that this fledgling department never gets off the ground, and when it does get approved, he seeks to undermine it at every turn. The result is hijinks and more as the rivalry develops. As a seminary graduate, I might wince at the portrayal of the seminary and its chair, but it's all good fun. Ultimately, there is a word here that is rather hopeful. As we move through the story, we discover ways in which we might love God.

I truly enjoyed reading Hudson’s The Beautiful Madness of Martin Bonham (I’ll let the reader discover why Bonham is said to have madness). One of the reasons I enjoyed reading the book is the characters Hudson has created. Through the characters, we are reminded that we can be petty at times, yes even good Christians can be petty, especially when we become protective of our turf. At the same time, these characters demonstrate ways in which we might love God by loving one another. There is a certain redemptive quality to the storyline. I can't say much more about the book without revealing too much of the plot. However, if you enjoy reading novels that include theological discussions and faculty rivalries, then you might enjoy this book. As for my recommendation, if you can trust a reviewer who doesn’t read a lot of fiction, but who truly enjoyed Hudson’s novel, then by all means pick up a copy and dive in. After all, for people of faith, reflecting on ways we might love God is a worthy effort. So, take, read, and enjoy. Perhaps as you do so you will discover a new how you too love God!!

Mark 1:1-8 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

1 The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ.

² As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
    who will prepare your way,
³ the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
    ‘Prepare the way of the Lord;
    make his paths straight,’ ”

⁴ so John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵ And the whole Judean region and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him and were baptized by him in the River Jordan, confessing their sins. ⁶ Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. ⁷ He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the strap of his sandals. ⁸ I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

*******************

                When we think of Advent, we tend to think in terms of the birth story of Jesus. That’s something that the Gospel of Mark lacks. This Gospel jumps right to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. Mark begins his Gospel by setting up the ministry of John the Baptizer, who serves as the forerunner of Jesus’ ministry. Mark begins his message by announcing “the beginning of the good news of Jesus.” Mark shows no interest in where Jesus hailed from. There is nothing in Mark about parentage. Unlike Matthew and Luke Mark doesn’t offer us a genealogy. He wants to dive right into the ministry of this Jesus the Christ.

Rather than begin with an origin story, Mark starts by introducing us to the forerunner to the ministry of this Jesus he wants to introduce us to. Mark begins with a passage from the prophet we know as Second Isaiah, a prophet who addressed a people living in exile, promising a way home. While Mark points us to the words of Isaiah 40:3, he uses them to define and describe the ministry of the one we know as John the Baptist (or better yet, John the Baptizer). This John the Baptizer serves as the forerunner to the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit. This would be Jesus, who is the Messiah of God. That is, Jesus is the anointed one who is called by God to deliver the people from their bondage to sin.

                So, as noted above, Mark begins his version of the Jesus story by drawing on words from Isaiah 40:3, which speaks of the voice that cries out in the wilderness to prepare the way for the Lord. In addition to the reading from Isaiah 40, Mark draws on words from Exodus 23:20 and Malachi 3:1. By doing this Mark sets the story of Jesus Israel’s history. So, while these other passages are not mentioned, they stand alongside the reading from Isaiah 40 to define the ministry of John. William Placher writes “The three contexts of Malachi, Second Isaiah, and Exodus 23 together, then, add up to a message that could be summarized in the old phrase, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ God is about to do a great thing. Good news! But not the good news people expect or will find comfortable” [Belief: Mark, p. 19]. That is true, what follows might not be the kind of good news that people expect.

                With this reading the focus isn’t on Jesus but the forerunner to Jesus and his ministry. The picture that Mark paints of this forerunner—John the Baptizer—is one many will recognize. John is portrayed as living in the wilderness, dressed in a camel hair garment, with a leather belt around his waist, and eating locusts and honey. In other words, he’s not what you would call socially “respectable.” Although he appears to us as someone akin to a street preacher with a sandwich board yelling at people as they pass by, people go out to see him and get baptized by him. That’s because he proclaimed a baptism of repentance and forgiveness. Indeed, John understands his ministry (according to Mark) as involving a rite of purification. It fits with what we read in Malachi 3, where the prophet writes:

See, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple. The messenger of the covenant in whom you delight—indeed, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. ² But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

For he is like a refiner’s fire and like washers’ soap; ³ he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness.  (Malachi 3:1-3).

There is much about John and his ministry that is reflective of the ministries of Israel’s prophets, especially Elijah, who like John wore a leather belt and whose camel hair garment was reminiscent of Elijah’s depiction of being hairy (2 Kings 1:8). As popular as John was with the populace, his ministry was not definitive or final. It was preparatory. There would be someone who comes after him, the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.

                Regarding the one who will come after John, the Baptizer makes it clear that not only will this figure be more powerful, but John tells us that he would not be worthy of bending down and untie his sandals. Nevertheless, though he baptizes only with water and the one who follows will baptize with the Holy Spirit, it will be John’s baptism that will initiate Jesus’ ministry. He might not be worthy to untie Jesus’ sandals, but he is tasked with baptizing him. It was while John baptized Jesus that the Spirit would descend on Jesus in the form of a dove, and a voice from heaven declared Jesus to be God’s son, the Beloved (Mk.1:9-11).   

                The reading from Mark 1 stops short of Jesus’ baptism, though it is worth continuing to connect John’s preparatory ministry with the baptism of Jesus. It is worth contemplating the nature of Jesus’ baptism since John’s baptism involved repentance and the forgiveness of sins. The assumption of Christian theology has been that Jesus was without sin (whether or not he was born of a virgin), so why the baptism? It’s a question, but since Jesus’ baptism had to be embarrassing to early Christians, as William Placher points out it’s unlikely the early church invented the baptism— “So John and his baptism of Jesus seem as historically well established as anything in the Gospels” [Belief: Mark, p. 20].

                With the connection made between John and Jesus, we can ask the question of the meaning of this story. What are its implications for our Advent observance? As I’ve noted in this reflection and elsewhere, Advent serves as a season of reflection and preparation. As the reading from Mark 13 that we read on the First Sunday of Advent reminds us, Jesus us to stay awake because we never know when the second advent will take place (Mk. 13:24-37). This particular story speaks of a baptism of repentance and forgiveness. That suggests that this season serves as a time for us to address the sins that mar our lives. We may not get baptized, but surely repentance and forgiveness are part of the journey as we begin the new liturgical year. Thus, the season invites us to undergo purification. While Pentecost lies far in the future, the promise of the Holy Spirit is also an important element of what it means to prepare for our encounter with Jesus.

                This season of Advent exists in an uneasy tension with the larger holiday season. Advent invites us to take steps that involve forms of purification. As the prophet Malachi suggests, the one who is coming is “like a refiner’s fire and like washers’ soap;  he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord in righteousness” (Malachi 3:2-3). The holiday season we’ve entered into tends toward the jolly rather than the somber. I for one enjoy the secular side of the season, so it would seem that there is a need for balance. We take time during the season to look inward, even as we spend time celebrating the season.  

                As we ponder the meaning of John’s message, it is worth reflecting on Peter’s message on the Day of Pentecost. On that day the Holy Spirit descended on the people, even as the Spirit descended on Jesus, empowering Jesus’ followers to proclaim the good news in a multitude of languages and dialects so that everyone might hear the good news. The people asked what they must do to be saved, to experience the healing presence of the Holy Spirit, and Peter declared that what they needed to do was repent and be baptized and they would receive the forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38). The baptism in water that John and Peter proclaimed brought with it forgiveness of sins, but that which Peter proclaimed, which was rooted in Jesus’ ministry, also brought with it the gift of the Holy Spirit.  

As we pause during this Advent season to look inward so we might discern areas that need attention, John reminds us that we take this journey in the power of the Holy Spirit, who comes to us through the ministrations of Jesus. Thus, we are born of water and the Spirit, to draw on the imagery from Jesus’ discussion with Nicodemus (John 3:5). Perhaps as we look at the gifts that are gathering under the tree, we can envision the gifts of God’s Spirit so that we might fulfill our calling as ones baptized with the Spirit.

So we sing:

On Jordan’s bank the Baptist’s cry announces that the Lord is nigh;

Awake and hearken, for he brings glad tidings of the King of kings!

Then cleansed be every life from sin; make straight the way for God within,

And let us all our hearts prepare for Christ to come and enter there.

                                —Charles Coffin, 1736; trans. John Chandler, 1837 alt.

 Image attribution: Bruegel, Pieter, 1564-1638. Saint John the Baptist Preaching to the Masses in the Wilderness, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56030 [retrieved December 4, 2023]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Saint_John_the_Baptist_Preaching_to_the_Masses_in_the_Wilderness_oil_on_oak_panel_by_Pieter_Brueghel_the_Younger.jpg.

UNEXPECTED ABUNDANCE: The Fruitful Lives of Women without Children. By Elizabeth Felicetti. Grand Rapids: MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2023. Xii + 163 pages.

If we read carefully through the Bible, we will come across stories of "barren" women. That is, we encounter stories about women who for some reason are unable to produce children. In the ancient world that was a problem because it was important for women to bear children. This was their duty in life. Therefore, we encounter Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah, Elizabeth, and others who seem unable to conceive. However, in all of these cases, God made a provision for them to bear children who proved important to the biblical story. Then and now, one solution to “barrenness” was surrogacy. Sarah used Hagar, while Rachel and Leah also used surrogates to expand the family. For a contemporary conversation about surrogacy, one might turn to Grace Kao's book: My Body, Their Baby: A Progressive Christian Vision for Surrogacy. Despite societal pressure for women to bear children, is having a baby necessary for a woman to live a fulfilled life? Might a woman live an abundant life of service that is made possible by not having children? It's a question that requires careful exploration.

Elizabeth Felicetti’s Unexpected Abundance makes the case biblically and historically, as well as contemporarily, that women can live fruitful lives without children. She does so from personal experience. Felicetti is an Episcopal priest who tried for a decade to conceive but did not have a child. What she offers here is an invitation to look at the many women in Scripture and through history who lived abundant lives and made great contributions to the work of God in the world. In this book, Felicetti essentially seeks to reclaim the word "barren." She does this by looking at the desert, which at first glance might seem barren, that is it might seem to be lifeless, but is full of life. What we have here is a book written by a woman who wanted to have children but ended up not having children. While she could have gone to extraordinary lengths to conceive, in the end, she chose not to go that route. This was her choice, understanding that other women might make other choices. What Felicetti seeks to do in this book is offer women without children (and really men as well) a word of encouragement. She wants them to know, whether by choice or not, one can experience extraordinary abundance without producing children.

In the course of Felicetti's book, Extraordinary Abundance, we encounter the stories of biblical women such as Hannah and Rachel, as well as women like Mary and Martha. While Hannah and Rachel are given sons, we’re never told of the marital status of the sisters Mary and Martha or whether they had children, but the silence of scripture invites us to ponder the question. Along the way, we also encounter stories of medieval mystics, English religious reformers, composers, activists, medical professionals, and clergy. Each of the women discussed never had children but they made extraordinary contributions to the wider world.

Felicetti begins her book by meditating on the fruitfulness of the desert as a way of reclaiming the word barren (Chapter 1). She tells us that she grew up in Arizona, where the “desert burned into my soul.” She suggests that people who think of deserts as being lifeless haven’t spent any time in them.  As for women without children, they may be called barren, but that doesn’t mean they are without life.

With that meditation on the desert as a foundation, in Chapter 2, Felicetti turns to discuss the lives of “Barren Old Testament Matriarchs.” Instead of focusing on Sarah and Rachel, Felicetti introduces us to Moses' sister Miriam, a prophet and worship leader. She lifts up Deborah, a judge and warrior, who served as a leader of the people of Israel in time of war. There's also Esther, who risked her life for her people. Then there’s Huldah the prophet who interpreted Scripture for Josiah. Yes, she was the one Josiah turned to after the high priest discovered what many believe to be Deuteronomy. Felicetti writes that "these childless women were warriors and prophets, saviors and poets, matriarchs and liturgists. Yet women in church pews have heard and continue to hear more about biblical women as mothers or women yearning to be mothers. Women can be all of these things" (p. 33). Though these women discussed do not appear to have children, they too are matriarchs of the faith.

In Chapter 3, we move from the Old Testament to the New Testament. Here Felicetti reminds us that Jesus didn’t have children (despite the tale spun by Dan Brown in the DaVinci Code). Indeed, in the Gospel of Luke Jesus tells the woman who shouted at him that the womb that bore Jesus was blessed, that the ones who are blessed are the ones who hear the Word of God and obey it. With that in mind, Felicetti emphasizes chosen families over biological ones. She begins with the story of Mary and Martha, whom she speaks of as being wise leaders and prophets. There is also the Samaritan woman at the well who is an evangelist. The way that story is told suggests that this woman might have been caught in a series of levirate marriages. I had never thought of that possibility, but it makes complete sense. Here is a woman forced into a series of marriages to produce a child, but that doesn’t happen. Yet, because of her encounter with Jesus, she becomes an evangelist.  Finally, there is Mary Magdalene, an evangelist and apostle. Each of these women does not appear to have children, and yet they were generate in life without bearing children.

We move from the biblical stories to church history in chapters four and five. These chapters and the ones that follow focus on specific women and their vocations. Chapter 4 introduces us to several medieval mystics and writers including Clare of Assisi, Julian of Norwich, and Catherine of Siena.  She says of these women that “in a time period when enormous pressure was exerted to marry and procreate, these women chose to serve God by prayer, Christian leadership, and writing, and their fruits have come down to us in ways they may not have had they acquiesced to a more traditional path” (p. 58). After she lifts up the lives and influences of these medieval mystics whose writings and life stories continue to influence modern Christians, she spends Chapter 5 exploring the lives of two English religious reformers, Queen Elizabeth I and Lady Jane Grey, who was queen for nine days and later was executed. Both women played important roles in the English Reformation. It's worth remembering here that Felicetti is an Episcopal priest, but these women who for different reasons did not bear children have left an important legacy.

After taking up these stories from history that focus on mystical writers and religious reformers, she turns to a specific vocation, that of composer. Interestingly she chooses to lift up one from the medieval world and one from the modern world (Chapter 6). These two composers are Hildegard of Bingen and Dolly Parton (yes Dolly Parton, the mother to 3000 songs). Her discussion of Dolly Parton may surprise many readers, but also be of great interest. Felicetti writes that "both powerful women had to contend with sexism yet created significant fruit despite not having children" (p. 82). From these two composers, we move in Chapter 7 to three activists: Sister Helen Prejean—the advocate against the death penalty known from the depiction of her in Dead Men Walking —along with Rosa Parks and Dorothea Dix. Parks is, of course, a civil rights icon, while Dix is known for her work addressing the issue of America's mental institutions. Chapter 8 introduces us to several childless medical professionals. These include the Blackwell sisters who were among the first women to earn medical degrees and become physicians. Then there is Florence Nightingale. These women were pioneers in health care and made a difference without having children. Finally, in Chapter 9, Felicetti introduces us to several childless women clergy. Being that she is an Episcopalian, she chose to focus on three Anglican women who were pioneers as clergy., These include Florence Li Tim-Oi, who was the first Anglican woman to be ordained. While that largely occurred because there was a shortage of priests in China during World War II, and her ordination was considered to be irregular, she is honored as the first to be ordained. The reason she was ordained at the time was due to her faithfulness in the face of adversity. The second woman is Pauli Murray, an African-American woman, who began her work as an activist before becoming one of the first women ordained as an Episcopal priest. Finally, Felicetti introduces us to Barbara Harris, the first woman ordained as a bishop within the Episcopal church. Again, all three women were childless and yet they served their church fully.

Felicetti began this attempt to reclaim the word barren by lifting up in Chapter 1 the often-invisible liveliness of the desert. She brings Unexpected Abundance to a close in Chapter 10 by returning to the desert. then the final chapter (10), Felicetti takes us back to the desert, reminding us again of the fruitfulness of what might appear at first glance to be barren (lifeless). Thus, she concludes, speaking of the desert, “If this fruitful, fierce landscape is ‘barren,’ then I proudly claim that title” (p. 142).

Life is complicated. Yet, whatever the situation in life we find ourselves in, we can be fruitful. As the reviewer of this book, I am a married straight male who, with my spouse, produced one son. Whether he marries and his children is not yet known. I approached this book with an openness, acknowledging that people make different choices. When it comes to having children, not having a child does not mean that one’s life is not fruitful. In fact, the stories revealed here in Extraordinary Abundance suggest that women can lead fruitful lives without having children. They may, as Elizabeth Felicetti, be barren, but they are not lifeless. So, whether we have children or not we can lead abundant and fruitful lives, whatever our vocation. Thus, in her book Extraordinary Abundance, the Rev. Elizabeth Felicetti, the rector of St. David’s Episcopal Church in Richmond, Virginia, invites us to embrace our situation in life and live that life to its fullness. 

Isaiah 40:1-11 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

40 Comfort, O comfort my people,
    says your God.
² Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
    and cry to her
that she has served her term,
    that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
    double for all her sins.

³ A voice cries out:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
    make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
⁴ Every valley shall be lifted up,
    and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
    and the rough places a plain.
⁵ Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
    and all flesh shall see it together,
    for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”

⁶ A voice says, “Cry out!”
    And I said, “What shall I cry?”
All flesh is grass;
    their constancy is like the flower of the field.
⁷ The grass withers; the flower fades,
    [[when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
    surely the people are grass.
⁸ The grass withers; the flower fades,]]
    but the word of our God will stand forever.
⁹ Get you up to a high mountain,
    O Zion, herald of good news;
lift up your voice with strength,
    O Jerusalem, herald of good news;
    lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
    “Here is your God!”
¹⁰ See, the Lord God comes with might,
    and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him
    and his recompense before him.
¹¹ He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
    he will gather the lambs in his arms and carry them in his bosom
    and gently lead the mother sheep.

*************

                The Advent season continues its march toward Christmas. The readings from Isaiah and the Gospel of Mark feature prophets crying in the wilderness, preparing the way for the coming of the Lord. The word we hear from Isaiah 40 is one of comfort. It’s a tender word given to exiles, letting them know that their term of service had come to an end as their “iniquity is expiated” (Is. 40:2 Tanakh). That is, the penalty for Israel’s iniquity had been paid. So, a new day is coming when the people of God can return home.  Because it is time to return home a voice rings out in the wilderness “Clear in the desert a road for the Lord! Level in the wilderness a highway for our God!” (Is. 40:3 Tanakh). It is these words that speak of preparing a way for the Lord in the desert that Mark draws upon in opening his Gospel, putting the words of Isaiah in the mouth of John the Baptist (Mk 1:1-8).  

                The words of our reading from Isaiah 40 might sound familiar. Not only does Mark draw upon them as he begins his Gospel, but George Frideric Handel drew upon them as he wrote his oratorio The Messiah. The first five verses of Isaiah 40 provide the words of three pieces from Part 1 of The Messiah. Verses 1-3 that offer a word of comfort provide the words for the first tenor recitative— “Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness: Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” Following that there is a tenor air featuring Isaiah 40:4— “Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, and the rough places plain.” Finally, the first chorus comes from Isaiah 40:5— “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.” It might be worth listening to these pieces from The Messiah as one contemplates the reading from Isaiah 40. While the words will sound familiar to those who know the Messiah, they are not merely lyrics in an oratorio. They are words directed to exiles, offering comfort and hope for a new day of freedom from captivity.

                As noted above, Mark drew upon Isaiah 40 to provide a background and foundation for the ministry and message of John the Baptist, who for Mark serves as the forerunner of the Messiah. It is John who serves as the voice, whose calling is to prepare the way for the Lord’s coming (Mk. 1:1-8). According to Second Isaiah, the voice that rings out, calling for the creation of a road in the desert so that God might lead the way out of exile.  So, the prophet declares:

Again, we get to sing along with Handel. However, this is first a word to exiles living in Babylon. This chapter begins a new section of the Book of Isaiah, which is known by the scholarly community as Second or Deutero-Isaiah. It is a word directed at a community living in exile. The prophet encourages this people living in exile to remain patient until God acts to liberate them from their present distress. In proto-apocalyptic language, Isaiah proclaims that the “glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together” (Is. 40:4-5). That is the word of the LORD! The message here is that when God’s glory is revealed, it will not occur in a quiet corner. Everyone will see, hear, and experience this revealing of God’s glory. For the exiles, this is an expectation to be realized on the return from Babylon to Jerusalem. From a Christian repurposing of the passage, this is understood as referring to the future inbreaking of the realm of God.

                When it comes to this Word of God, let us be clear that we’re not talking about a book. The word of God here is God’s covenant promises that will not fail. If we read this through a Christian lens, following Karl Barth’s idea of a three-fold Word of God (my usage here), that Word would be Christ our Lord. It is Christ who does not fail and whose word will be fulfilled. As followers of Jesus, we can also grab hold of the promise that God is faithful to the covenant promises. What Isaiah is doing here is emphasizing the relationship between God and God’s people. The promise here is that a time will come when the exile the people are experiencing will come to an end. That is because, as we read earlier in the passage their term is over and their sin or iniquity is expiated. The price has been paid and freedom is on the horizon.    

                If we understand the Torah/the Law as the foundation of the covenant relationship, the prophet's job is to call attention to the mutual nature of the covenant. God is faithful, but sometimes the people drift away, and they suffer the consequences. The prophets call the people back to the covenant, reminding them of God’s faithfulness. Thus, there is both a word of judgment and a word of restoration. As we read the accounts of the people of Israel during and after the exile, it appears that their time in exile, along with the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, proved transformative. Thus, the identity of the people seems to have been forged during the exile, which proved to be a period of purification. When that was completed, they were restored to the Land.

                Since this word from Second Isaiah is understood to have been delivered during the exile, they are still waiting for their redemption. The good news that comes as the people endure exile is that God has not abandoned them. A road will be laid down so that the people can return to their homeland. As the road is laid through the hills, the glory of God will be revealed.

                This word from Isaiah is spoken to us during the Advent season, which is understood to be a season of preparation. It is even understood to be something of a penitential season, much like Lent. The connection has often been symbolized by the usage of purple vestments and paraments, though in recent years blue has begun to replace purple at Advent. The seasons have some connections but they're also very different. For one thing, the season leading up to Christmas is much more volatile than the one leading to Easter. It’s more difficult to focus on looking inward as we prepare to welcome again the Christ child, even as the passages point us beyond Bethlehem to the future coming of the Lord (the second Advent). The words that are spoken here involve preparation, but they also offer comfort. Comfort is something that is in short supply in many parts of the world.

                This word of comfort is helpful at this moment in time when the days of Christendom have largely gone away. Some seek to restore some kind of theocratic nationalism, but that ship has sailed and isn’t coming back. So how do we experience exile? Where do we find hope and comfort? According to Isaiah, our hope and our comfort is to be found in the faithfulness of God, not in some kind of political power. While some in Israel hoped for the restoration of the Davidic monarchy that never happened and likely never will. While a Temple was built to replace the former Temple, that too has disappeared. If we understand ourselves as exiles, then the point of our existence as a community is not to gain power over the world, but to exhibit the true nature of God’s realm through our lives.

                According to the Advent calendar, we have arrived at Peace Sunday. As we look around at the world, we quickly notice that peace has not been achieved in our world. War is taking place in Ukraine, and many Russians, led by the Patriarch of Moscow, have cast this war in sacred terms. I don’t buy it but that is the way some understand it. Then there is the war that is taking place in Gaza, as Israel seeks to destroy its enemy. We wonder how many innocents will die as a result. This is not to support Hamas, it’s just recognizing that the “collateral damage,” is exceedingly great. So, lighting the Peace Candle might seem somewhat ironic. Nevertheless, we hear Isaiah proclaim:

 Our hope for experiencing peace, according to Isaiah, is to be found in the faithfulness of God who like a shepherd “will gather the lambs in his arms and carry them in his bosom and gently lead the mother sheep” (Is. 40:10-11).  In this promise, there is comfort. For many in this season, when loneliness is most keenly felt, or when disappointment is present as a year comes to a close, or because of the violence and anger that fills the land is ever-present, this is a powerful word of comfort. It is a call on the people of God to bring comfort to our neighbors.

                So we sing:

                Blessed be the God of Israel, who comes to set us free,

                Who visits and redeems us, and grants us liberty.

                The prophets spoke of mercy, of freedom and release;

                God shall fulfill the promise to bring our people peace. 

                                                                Michael Perry,1973

Isaiah 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37

I have good news to share with you this morning. Advent has arrived and with it a new liturgical year begins. Today we begin a new journey that invites us to once again hear the story of God’s presence among us, as that presence is revealed in the life of Jesus and the ministry of the Holy Spirit. If we pay close attention to the story as it unfolds, we discover that when God visits us, God tends to shake things up. In the words of the third prophet we call Isaiah, in his prayer of repentance, he calls on God to tear open the heavens and come down so that the mountains would quake and God’s name would be made known to a distracted world. Yes, when God comes down, the nations tremble. 

The season of Advent invites us to prepare for the coming of the Lord. The Gospel of Mark begins with the announcement that God is sending a messenger to prepare the way for the coming of the Lord by making the pathway for the Lord straight (Mk 1:1-3). According to Mark, that messenger was John the Baptist.

This morning our reading from the Gospel of Mark invites us to listen to Jesus, who speaks of the coming of the Son of Man in the clouds with glory to gather up God’s people from the four corners of the earth (Mk. 13:24-27). 

When we think of Advent, we usually connect it with the upcoming birth of Jesus, but Advent also calls on us to prepare for a second advent. The first Advent took place two millennia in the past, while the second Advent has yet to arrive. Our annual journey through the Christian year reminds us that we live between these two advents. 

Now, there is a reason why we focus on the first Advent. That’s because it precedes Christmas. So, we tend to spend Advent getting ready for the Christmas holiday. After all, there’s so much to do to get ready for Christmas. There are presents to buy, and travel plans to make, food to prepare, and parties to attend. 

While Christmas is on our minds, the message of Advent runs counter to much of this seasonal activity. That’s because it invites us to slow down, stop, and look inward to check and see if there are spiritual things that need to be dealt with.

As Isaiah reminds us, if we’re not careful, we can lose sight of God’s presence in our lives. Isaiah speaks at times as if God is absent, though in reality, God isn’t absent, we just get so caught up in daily life that we can forget God is present. We call this practical atheism. I know how this works because it happens to me. So, Isaiah offers us this prayer of lament and repentance so we can reconnect with the God who at times seems absent. 

It is said that this season between Thanksgiving and Christmas, this season of Advent, can be a time when many feel this absence most keenly. This is one of the reasons why we are holding a Blue Christmas service this coming week. It serves as an opportunity to find solace by remembering that even when feel alone God is present with us.

While our readings from Isaiah and Mark remind us that when God acts, things can get shaken up, Isaiah also reminds us that God is our maker. Yes, God is the potter and we are the clay. When Isaiah reminds us that we are the work of God's hands, the prophet takes back to the second creation story, where God forms the first human from the adamah, or clay. After God fashions this first human, God breathes life into this new creation (Gen. 2:4-7). Because God is our maker, we are God’s people. This offers us a word of hope because even when we feel alone or feel as if the world is in disarray, we are members of God’s family.

In the reading from Mark, Jesus not only tells us that when the Son of Man comes in his glory to shake things up, but he also will send out the host of heaven to gather up God’s people from the four corners of the earth. But, since we don’t know when this second advent will take place, Jesus asks us to patiently keep watch. Stay alert, because the day of the Lord may come suddenly, without warning.

Over the years, I’ve chosen to begin the Advent season by singing, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.” Yes, “O come, though Dayspring, come and cheer our spirits by thine advent here; disperse the gloomy clouds of night and death’s deep shadows put to flight.” 

This hymn reflects the message we find in both Isaiah 64 and Mark 13. Isaiah speaks of exile, while Mark speaks of God’s realm breaking into our lives, often unexpectedly. But, when God arrives, God creates something new. The coming of the Dayspring will cheer our spirits.

Both readings address the question of God’s apparent absence by letting us know that God is coming for God’s people. So be prepared. As Isaiah lets us know, we must pay attention to the ethical dimensions of God’s covenant with God’s people. As Rabbi Barry Schwartz points out, for Isaiah and for Israel, this “is the only way to move forward—the only path of light in a dark world, the only hope in an age of travail” [Path of the Prophets, p. 211].  This is why we have this opportunity, during Advent, to look inward and discern those areas we need to address before the coming of the Lord. As we do this, we can call out to God, “Lord, have mercy on us.” 

Although Advent invites us to look inward and deal with the disarray in our own lives, it also offers us a word of hope that is symbolized by the first Advent candle we light. The opening verse of a Brian Wren hymn declares: “Hope is a star that shines in the night, leading us on till the morning is bright” [“When God Is a Child,” Chalice Hymnal, 132].  

The past several years have been challenging. We’ve experienced COVID and watched as violence and political upheaval mark the world stage. Many of us are concerned about the state of our own nation which has become so polarized that anger is the most prevalent emotion among the populace. We may feel as if God is absent as we watch the ongoing war in Ukraine and the horrors present in Gaza and Israel. Many of us struggle to make sense of it all. The brazen attack on Israeli citizens and others by Hamas, followed by Israel’s devastating response, leaves us uncertain as to how we should respond. Then there is the politics of our own nation that worries many of us. So, it may seem as if darkness has enveloped us. In moments like this, many ask, where is God? 

This was a question that both Isaiah’s and Mark’s audiences were asking. It’s a question many living today are asking. Our journey toward an answer begins with lament and repentance so that we might be ready when the Son of Man arrives in our midst shaking everything up in order to set things right. As we wait for that moment, let us put our trust in the God who may seem absent, but who is always with us even when we don’t feel that presence. Whether that presence is made known through earthquakes or still small voices, as we move through this Advent season, let us pause for a moment, and listen for God’s voice that speaks a word of hope in the midst of a noisy world. Then we can shout for joy because we’ll know that God is at work in our midst. 

In a moment we’ll sing a song that declares:

Though the nations rage from age to age, we remember who holds us fast: 

God’s mercy must deliver us from the conqueror’s crushing grasp. 

This saving word that our forebears heard is the promise which holds us bound, 

till spear and rod can be crushed by God, who is turning the world around. 

[Rory Cooney, “My Soul Cries Out with a Joyful Sound”]. 

So, when the Son of Man comes in glory shaking things up to get our attention, let us join together in praying: “O come, Desire of nations, bind all peoples in one heart and mind, bid envy, strife and quarrels cease; fill the world with heaven’s peace.” 

Yes, let this be our Advent prayer so that we might commit ourselves to joining with the God who shakes things up, so we might participate with God in the work of Tikkun Olam. That is the Hebrew phrase that means “to heal the world.” This is our calling as spiritual descendants of Abraham and Sarah, through our spiritual kinship with Jesus our Lord.

Preached by: 

Dr. Robert D. Cornwall

First Presbyterian Church (USA)

Troy, Michigan

December 3, 2023

Advent 1B

JESUS: Mystic, Healer, and Prophet. By Bruce Epperly. Vestal, NY: Anamcharma Books, 2023. 160 pages.

Who is Jesus? That is a perennial question that people have been pondering since the first century of the common era. Note that I used the present tense and not the past tense. While we do ask the question of the historical Jesus, who lived two millennia in the past, for Christians the assumption is that Jesus still lives. Getting to the earthly life of Jesus, when he asked his disciples what they were hearing about him, they gave several answers to the question. Then he asked a follow-up question of his followers. He wanted to know who they thought he was now that they had spent a good bit of time with him. Peter boldly responded to his question by declaring that Jesus was the Messiah and son of God (Mt. 16:16). When Bruce Epperly reflected on this question, he answered by suggesting that Jesus is/was a "Mystic, Healer, and Prophet." Thus, the subtitle of his book Jesus, this brief reflection on Jesus' identity provides his answer, which he unpacks in this book.

Before we dive into what Bruce thinks about Jesus, I would like to introduce him to my audience. Bruce is an ordained minister with standing in the United Church of Christ and the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). He is also a Process theologian, having written widely on Process Theology as well as Christian Spirituality. Bruce has been very effective in bringing together Process Theology, which can be very philosophical in orientation, with Christian mysticism, while adding in a bit of the Baptist/Evangelicalism that formed him in his earliest years. I think it's that last piece of Bruce's identity that makes him different from many liberal theologians. It serves as an anchor that allows him to explore the boundaries of Christian spirituality. In the very first paragraph of the book, he makes note of the fact that at age nine he accepted Jesus as his "personal Savior." Looking back over the six decades since that day, he realizes that this was just the beginning of his spiritual journey (p. 9-10). We see that spiritual journey reflected in this meditation on the identity of Jesus. In reading this reflection on Jesus, we see that after all these years Jesus remains alive to him in his day-to-day activities.

In the first chapter of this meditation on the person of Jesus, Epperly introduces us to Christian mysticism and shows how he believes Jesus fits into it. What he offers here is his vision of the quest to know Jesus. That is not just the historical Jesus, but more importantly, he seeks to encounter the Jesus who is present today. With that in mind, Bruce tells us that in this book he "will be exploring the insights of the Gospel portraits of Jesus—both canonical and noncanonical—as guideposts for our spiritual healing, and prophetic quests as Jesus' companion in healing ourselves and the world." He notes that he does this both as a scholar and as a believer committed to the way of Jesus (pp. 23-24). The invitation here is to encounter the living Christ.

He continues that conversation in Chapter 2, titled “One with God.” In this chapter, Bruce emphasizes Jesus’ oneness with God, whom he refers to as the Divine Parent. Here we get a better sense of the vision of Jesus being a mystic that is central to Epperly's Christology. He envisions Jesus being a spirit person who experienced full unity with God, which in turn inspired his healing ministry and prophetic faith. Thus, we learn more about mysticism and its relationship to Christology. This includes both his earthly existence as one who is one with God and his continuing presence with us. In that way, Jesus is the "ultimate spiritual person," who "enables us to also become spirit persons. His continuing presence is manifest in our vocations as mystics, healers, and prophets in our time" (p. 62).

Having laid out his Christological vision in chapter 2, in the next two chapters he focuses on Jesus’ calling as one with healing power and a prophetic spirit. With the first descriptor used by Epperly being that of the mystic, which he explored in the previous chapters, he turns in Chapter 3 to the second descriptor, that of Jesus the healer. Bruce is himself a practitioner of Reiki, an alternative healing process, and it is that practice that opens him up to Jesus’ healing ministry. Thus, in chapter 3 he explores the way the Gospels portray Jesus' healing ministry. His reflections on the stories of Jesus’ healing activities will prove intriguing. He concludes that “embracing Jesus’ healing ministry is grounded in the belief that prayer makes a difference in the world—and that when we pray, we add to the beauty, health, and growth of ourselves, the people around us, and the entire planet” (p. 115). Thus, in exploring this ministry of Jesus, Bruce invites us to consider how Jesus might have engaged in that work, thereby inviting us to consider how we also might participate in that healing ministry.

Moving to the fourth chapter in the book, titled "Prophetic Spirit," we find Bruce exploring this third dimension of Jesus' ministry/identity. As you can see this vision is different from the traditional doctrine of the three-fold ministry of Jesus as being prophet, priest, and king. However, the two visions of Jesus’ ministry needn't be mutually exclusive. In defining the prophetic dimension of Jesus' ministry, Bruce notes that Jesus' prophetic ministry was focused on justice and empowerment of others. We see this aspect of Jesus' identity reflected in his message from Isaiah as to his own prophetic calling as one filled with the Spirit (Luke) and the message of the Sermon on the Mount. He wants to make it clear that this work of Jesus, which is a work passed on to us, should be done in community. Bruce draws from Walter Brueggemann’s vision of the prophetic imagination, suggesting that we follow the biblical prophets and claim our “own prophetic imagination in alignment with the Divine Dream of wholeness and abundance” (p. 145).

Not only does Bruce lay out Jesus’ three-fold identity as Mystic, Healer, and Prophet, he invites us to embrace our own calling to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. Thus, in chapter 5, he draws on Jesus’ words in John 14, that his disciples would do even greater things than he had done. The message here is that Jesus doesn’t hoard power but instead shares it with his followers then and now. This is because, Bruce writes, “We are his companions, and he is our Spirit Gode. We are his change agents, and he is our prophetic inspiration” (p. 153).

Bruce Epperly’s Jesus: Mystic, Healer, and Prophet doesn’t offer the reader a traditional portrayal of Jesus. He draws on his orientation as a Process theologian and as one who has embraced mysticism, healing, and prophetic ministry to define his own ministerial identity, and roots this in Jesus’ own ministry. I should point out that while many Process-oriented theologians tend to be overly philosophical, Bruce has long had an interest in what one might call esoteric things. You will find that orientation present in this portrayal of the life of Jesus. What we find here is a portrayal of Jesus that is inclusive and empowering. While my own Christology is more traditional than Bruce’s I can say that he offers a picture of Jesus that is compelling and inviting. The most important piece is that, unlike some quests for Jesus, Bruce doesn’t leave Jesus in the First Century of the Common Era. It is worth remembering that while Bruce may venture to the edges, he has that old Baptist anchor keeping him centered. 

Mark 13:24-37 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

²⁴ “But in those days, after that suffering,

the sun will be darkened,

    and the moon will not give its light,

²⁵ and the stars will be falling from heaven,

    and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

²⁶ “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. ²⁷ Then he will send out the angels and gather the elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

²⁸ “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. ²⁹ So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. ³⁰ Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. ³¹ Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

³² “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven nor the Son, but only the Father. ³³ Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come. ³⁴ It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. ³⁵ Therefore, keep awake, for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening or at midnight or at cockcrow or at dawn, ³⁶ or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. ³⁷ And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

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                The prior liturgical year ended with the Son of Man coming in his glory to judge the nations. He will, Jesus tells us, separate the sheep from the goats based on how they treated him. When asked how they had served him, he told the sheep and goats that the way they had served him was in the way they treated the least of his brothers and sisters (Matt. 25:31-46). With that passage, Reign of God Sunday closed out the prior liturgical year.  We begin a new liturgical cycle on the First Sunday of Advent, Year B, with the announcement that the Son of Man will come in the clouds, “with great power and glory.” When he comes in his glory, he will send out his angels to gather up the elect from the ends of earth and heaven. In other words, we start where we ended.

                The season of Advent invites us to prepare for the coming of the Son of Man. It is a two-pronged preparation because we prepare for both the coming of the Christ Child (first Advent) and Christ the Judge (second Advent). In this reading, the message is a simple one. The Son of Man is coming soon and very soon, so stay awake. In many ways, Advent is an eschatological season. The chapter as a whole is known as “The Little Apocalypse,” with the larger apocalypse being the Book of Revelation. A key identifier of the apocalyptic nature of the passage is the reference to the Son of Man, which reflects a word of revelation in Daniel 7:13, which introduces us to the title taken on by Jesus (or applied to him). Whereas Matthew 25 talks of judgment, Mark 13 focuses on rescue. Consider that Jesus speaks of the angels gathering the elect from the four winds, that is all the nations of the world. While rescue or redemption is the result of this advent of the Son of Man, which is a word of hope, the phenomena that accompany the arrival of the Son of Man suggest that we should approach this arrival with a bit of fear and trembling. Why else would we want to stay awake and prepare for his coming? The description of the coming of the Son of Man reminds us that the one we prepare for is not the guy in the red suit who comes bearing gifts in his sleigh pulled through the air by eight tiny reindeer.

                It is worth considering the context in which Mark wrote this Gospel. It is believed that Mark wrote shortly before or after the Great Jewish War, which led to the destruction of Jerusalem. That event was understood in apocalyptic terms, and thus the word about the time of suffering that begins our reading. When we experience suffering or tragedy, especially on a national or international stage, we can easily begin thinking that the end is near. Every time there is a major flair-up of violence in the Middle East (as we’re seeing at this moment), many begin wondering if this is the time spoken of here and elsewhere in Scripture. Perhaps the word we hear in this apocalyptic vision is one of hope. That word of hope is rooted in the promise that heaven and earth might pass away, but not the word of God will not pass away.

                The message here revolves around the coming of the Son of Man, an image as noted above that was drawn from Daniel 7:13-14. The NRSVue uses the more inclusive human being for the Son of Man. While I understand the usage, I’m not sure it catches the same nuances as Son of Man. In any case, note the imagery here:

When Jesus speaks here of the coming of the Son of Man (human being), it is this word about dominion over all peoples, nations, and languages that is in view. It is according to Daniel an “everlasting dominion that will not pass away.” Thus, Jesus speaks here of the inbreaking of the Realm of God that is yet to come, at least in its fullness.

                In keeping with this message of everlasting dominion, we hear the word that the Son of Man, the Messiah, will gather up the elect and draw them into the realm. So, be prepared. Stay awake. That’s because no one knows the hour or the day. So, as you prepare and stay on the alert, consider the fig tree. When the tree begins to put forth leaves you know that summer is at hand. When you see signs, such as the persecution and the Desolating Sacrilege spoken of earlier in the chapter, you will know that the Son of Man will be coming soon. As William Placher points out the “focus is not on the tough times but on the divine blessings that lie beyond them. It will happen soon: ‘This generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place’” [Belief: Mark, p. 191]. That phrase, about this generation not passing away reminds us that the early Christians took an apocalyptic view of their situation, believing the future coming of the realm would take place sooner than later. The timing might not be clear, but the belief was strong.

                So, was Jesus mistaken? In one sense yes. We’re still here two millennia later. What began as a reform movement within Judaism that spread into Gentile communities, offering a message of a new creation would before too long evolve into an institutionalized religion. That institution was never fully unified. There was then, as there is now, a diversity of beliefs and practices. We see the roots in the New Testament.  

                Since this is a reading for Advent, in fact, the first Gospel reading of the season, what might we take from it? There is the apocalyptic element that is designed to keep us on our toes. As Advent is a season of preparation, where the message is one of being awake to the realities of our situation, as we watch for signs of the coming of the realm, what word do we hear? There is a word that has garnered much backlash. That word is “Woke.” It has become in some circles a pejorative, but in its origins within the African American community, and as the Merriam Webster Dictionary defines the term, to be “Woke” is to be “aware of and actively attentive to important societal facts and issues (especially issues of racial and social justice).” Should we not, as followers of Jesus, be “aware of and actively attentive” to issues of social justice? Is that not the message we hear in the parable of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25? If we are not “Woke,” that is awake, might we miss the sign of the fig tree? Might we miss what Jesus has in store for us?

                The reason we must stay awake is that we don’t know when the Son of Man will come in his glory. In fact, according to Mark’s Jesus, no one, including the Son of Man knows when this will take place. Only the Father knows. Of course, as William Placher points out, with the development of the doctrine Trinity, suggesting that only the Father knows for sure became increasingly untenable. Thus, Athanasius admitted that he did know, and “Augustine said that it means not that the Son himself does not know, but that he is using a ‘kind of figurative language’ to say that he is not enabling us to know” [Belief: Mark, p. 192-193]. Whatever Jesus may or may not have known at that moment, as for us, it is important that we not become complacent when it comes to the things of God and our place as God’s people in the world. So, let us live as if the end is close at hand because we don’t know what the future holds. That is true whether we believe, as I do, that the future is open or not.

                Just a word of caution to my friends who seek to see in the current world situation signs that we have entered the last days. Predicting the end is a fool’s errand, as history has shown. The predictors have been wrong too many times. William Miller tried to set a date and it didn’t pan out. Hal Lindsey seemed to suggest that the end would come somewhere around 1988, but we’re still here. That doesn’t mean we don’t stay alert. For those who seek to better understand how all this works, I suggest reading the book Second Thoughts about the Second Coming: Understanding the End Times, Our Future, and Christian Hope, which I coauthored with Ronald J. Allen (WJK Press, 2023). I would recommend paying special attention to the historical section.

                As we begin this Advent season, may we hear a word of hope and guidance. Stay awake, be aware of the signs, and be about the work of God in the world by seeking justice and showing compassion to those who suffer. We have been gifted for this work through the Holy Spirit. The end may come tomorrow or in a billion years or more. No one knows for sure. So again, stay awake! As we light the Candle of Hope on this First Sunday of Advent, might we sing:

                Blessed be the God of Israel, who comes to set us free,

                Who visits and redeems us, and grants us liberty.

                The prophets spoke of mercy, of freedom, and release;

                God shall fulfill the promise to bring our people peace.

                                —Michael Perry (to Merle’s Tune).

SPEAK WITH THE EARTH AND IT WILL TEACH YOU: A Field Guide to the Bible. By Daniel Cooperrider. Cleveland, OH: The Pilgrim Press, 2022. X + 188 pages.

The Psalmist declares:

O Lord, how manifold are your works!
In wisdom you have made them all;
the earth is full of your creatures.
There is the sea, great and wide;
creeping things innumerable are there,
living things both small and great. (Ps. 104:24-25).

I'm not sure how I would describe my connection to nature, but I do find a certain affinity to the natural world. While I'm not a camper, I enjoy spending time in the out of doors. I grew up in the shadow of Mount Shasta, an amazingly beautiful mountain, especially when covered with snow. To this day I am awestruck by its majesty. I've been blessed to spend time among the redwoods and sequoias, at the coast of Oregon and California, and now the lakeshores in Michigan and neighboring states. When we spend time in nature, it’s possible, if we’re open to it, to feel the presence of the Creator. Therefore, I can appreciate the words of the Psalmist and other biblical writers who ponder the majesty of God's creation.

Although one can profitably view nature through the lens of Scripture, Daniel Cooperrider has chosen to view scripture through the lens of nature. He does so in a way that is inviting and thought-provoking. Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You is beautifully written, making it enjoyable to read. I think it’s worth emphasizing the word enjoyable because I did enjoy reading Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You.

The author of Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You: A Field Guide to the Bible, Daniel Cooperrider, is first of all a pastor in the United Church of Christ. He is also a self-described fly-fisher and forager. In this book, he draws from his experiences in nature while living and serving churches in Vermont and now in what he calls the "edge of the Driftless Area in Madison, Wisconsin." The word "driftless" is explained late in the book as a region where glaciation did not take place. He also notes that he lives on Ho-Chunk land, acknowledging the indigenous people who were present before European settlement.

The starting premise here is the concept that two books of God exist—Scripture and Nature—both of which reveal something of God. While trained to look for God in Scripture, he notes that his congregation in Vermont slowly taught him a different way of reading for God. Through the influence of this congregation, he learned that could be found revealed not only in Scripture but also in nature. That is, his church taught him "that the church is not just a place to read and interpret the written scriptures of God, but a place to read and interpret the expressions of God that emanate constantly and from every corner of God's creation." (p. 3). Having been influenced by Karl Barth’s theology, which includes a rejection of natural theology,  I can be leery of putting too much stock in nature. As Barth would point out, nature can lead us astray. Nevertheless, experience has also taught me that if I'm open to nature I can find signs that God is present in the natural world. In this book, Cooperrider invites us to pay attention to that other book of God, which is found in the witness of nature. He traces this idea of God’s two books to such figures as Augustine, Maximus the Confessor, Hildegard of Bingen, Thomas Aquinas, and many more.

The subtitle of Cooperrider's book is instructive. He offers it as a field guide to the Bible. While he welcomes people using the book to explore the world, his "aim here is not to document and describe the flora and fauna recorded in the Bible. My aim is to reread the Bible in a living, breathing, yearning, determined search for God from the perspective of nature." (pp. 10-11). With that goal in mind, he seeks to read scripture through the lens of the book of nature. In doing this he seeks to "foreground the presence of the natural world, and to focus on creation and the more-than-human drama of life as it presents itself in its elemental forms" (p. 11). With that in mind, he divides the book into four major sections reflecting the four classical elements of water, fire, earth, and air. Rather than using those four words as section titles, he chooses to speak in terms of Rivers (water). Mountains (Fire), Trees (Earth), and Clouds (air). Each section has four chapters that explore these concepts.

Using these four elements as a means of entering Scripture allows us to see things that are present in Scripture that we might miss otherwise. Cooperrider begins the conversation by focusing on water because we begin life in water, both physically and spiritually. He points out, relevantly, that water is one of the most important environmental issues of our time. While we are born out of water and composed bodily of water, Scripture begins in its open words with the Spirit of God moving across the waters. So that's the starting point.

While water might have biological primacy, cosmologically has fire primacy. That is because the Big Bang Theory envisions a great explosion of fire out of which the universe is born. It is this fire that produces mountains, whether volcanoes or the movement of tectonic plates sitting on a molten core. Of course, in the biblical story, people, such as Moses and Jesus often encounter God on mountaintops. As is true of the first set of chapters, Cooperrider draws here from his own experience with mountains. He writes of the presence of mountains in scripture, that they "can be both occasions for theophany and intimate knowing of God, as well as occasions that reveal the immense gulf or gap in our knowledge of God" (p. 57). Of the latter consider Abraham's attempted sacrifice of Isaac on Mount Moriah, Jesus' temptation by the devil while standing on a very high mountain, and finally, Elijah's experience while huddled in a cave on Mount Horeb. In the final chapter of this section, he points to Moses' experience of seeing the Promised Land from a mountaintop while in the wilderness. Cooperrider writes "If you want to see paradise, the Bible seems to say at the end, go climb a mountain and look out, and shining through the landscape of the world, you just might glimpse it—everything fitting together—perfection perfected for a moment—a panorama of the Promised Land—this earth as the sanctuary, as the holy land, as la sainte terre, that it is" (p. 94).

From the mountains, Cooperrider takes up the lens provided by trees, which here stands in for the earth. He reminds us that in the second creation story, God creates Adam from the adamah, the humus or earth. It is good to remember that we are made from soil, such that as Jeremiah suggests, we are "clay in the potter's hand" (p. 95). As for the trees, we must go back to the Garden where God forms trees after forming Adam. He writes that "although trees and plants existed for hundreds of millions of years before humans, Genesis is right to intuit that our stories are fatefully entwined." (p. 98). When it comes to the trees, I acknowledge their witness, having spent time among the redwoods and sequoias of California. These majestic trees are awe-inspiring as they dwarf everything around them. The thing about trees is that they live in communities. While I’ve known this to be true, Cooperrider brings this to our attention as a way of reinforcing the human need for community. Of course, you can't talk about trees and the bible without noting Abraham and Sarah's act of hospitality at the Oaks of Mamre. Then, there's the Tree of Life present both in Genesis and Revelation. Of this tree, Cooperrider writes that "in the biblical imagination, the Tree of Life is not just a little bit of the future. It is the future. Standing in for the whole evolutionary unfolding of life, for the whole generative cosmic itself, finding the Tree of Life flourishing at the end of time teaches us that our own future is inseparable from the larger, ecological community on which we are directly dependent" (p. 138). Indeed!

Finally, we get to Air, which is explored here in terms of the Clouds. Biblically, Cooperrider notes that air is connected to the spirit or the soul. Consider that in Genesis 2, God breathes life into the clay that becomes Adam. There is the Ruach, the Spirit, who hovers over the primordial waters. As for us, "our lives begin with a piercing birth cry as we gasp for our first breath, and our lives end when we stop breathing, as our last sigh dissipates and merges back into the universal reservoir of air" (p. 140). I really appreciated this last section focusing on the clouds, since, as Cooperrider points out, we often see them negatively. However, the Bible can envision clouds having a very positive presence. It's often from clouds that God speaks. And then there's the bow God places in the clouds that serve as a reminder to God not to destroy the earth with a flood. He also points out that ecologically those large stratocumulus clouds that cover two-thirds of the earth serve to cool the earth. Unfortunately, they're disappearing, and thus their disappearance would be a great loss as this will lead to more global warming. Then there's that great cloud of witnesses that the Book of Hebrews speaks of, as it acknowledges our spiritual ancestors.

Ultimately, Cooperrider writes in his epilogue about loving God through loving the world. As we read Scripture through the lens of nature, which opens our eyes to elements and dimensions of the biblical story that we can easily miss without this lens, Cooperrider also reminds us that there is an ecological crisis, especially a climate crisis, that is present with us. For example, not long ago it was reported that one hundred dolphins died in the Amazon as the river water reached a record temperature of 102 degrees. As we contemplate the witness of the clouds, might we pay attention to what is going on in nature? Our survival as a species depends on it.

Cooperrider concludes Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You that this moment in time provides us with an opportunity and urgent call to "fall more deeply in love with the earth.” He believes this is “the call of our times that is coming to us from the direction of the earth—to love God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our strength and with all our mind. To love God through loving the world" (p. 180). This call to love God by loving the world, and not just our immediate neighbor but the world itself, serves as an important lens to hear a new word from Scripture about God’s love of the world.

I can say that Speak with the Earth and It Will Teach You is a timely book that speaks to the heart, by pointing us to nature so that in turn we may read and understand the Bible anew. So, enjoy and be blessed as you read the book, for it is a field guide to the Bible, helping us recognize that creation is proclaiming the Glory of God. Oh, and don’t just read the book. Be sure to step out into nature and enjoy and be blessed by its witness to the glory of God.

Isaiah 64:1-9 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

64 O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
    so that the mountains would quake at your presence—
² as when fire kindles brushwood
    and the fire causes water to boil—
to make your name known to your adversaries,
    so that the nations might tremble at your presence!
³ When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect,
    you came down; the mountains quaked at your presence.
⁴ From ages past no one has heard,
    no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
    who works for those who wait for him.
⁵ You meet those who gladly do right,
    those who remember you in your ways.
But you were angry, and we sinned;
    because you hid yourself we transgressed.
⁶ We have all become like one who is unclean,
    and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.
We all fade like a leaf,
    and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.
⁷ There is no one who calls on your name
    or attempts to take hold of you,
for you have hidden your face from us
    and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity.
⁸ Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;
    we are the clay, and you are our potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.
⁹ Do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord,
    and do not remember iniquity forever.
    Now consider, we are all your people.

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                As the liturgical year turns, we move from contemplating divine judgment to a time of expectation that can include divine judgment. The liturgical season of Advent easily gets enmeshed with the rush to Christmas. I understand the attractiveness of the more commercialized elements of the season, but we would be wise not to neglect this season of expectation and preparation. As with Lent, the season of Advent invites us to look inward and consider where we need to make changes in preparation for what is to come. In this case, it’s the coming of the incarnate one, the one we will call Emmanuel. But it’s not just the one born in Bethlehem, it’s the one who is to come, the one known as the Son of Man who comes to judge the righteous and the unrighteous (Matt. 25:31-46). It is the latter vision that we most often set aside in our rush through the season, but we need to keep both pictures in play.

                It is often customary in churches, at least in the churches I’ve served and could choose the hymns, to begin the Advent season singing “O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.” This plea for Emmanuel’s arrival, which according to the hymn leads to rejoicing, leads us into our reading from Isaiah 64, a passage best known for its reference to God the potter and we the clay. This reading from the one we often call Third Isaiah, speaks to a community recently liberated from exile but who discover that the homeland has experienced devastation.

                Our reading is part of a larger piece that begins in Isaiah 63:7 and continues to Isaiah64:12. The larger passage begins with a figure recounting “the gracious deeds of the LORD, the praiseworthy acts of the LORD” (Is. 63:7). While this larger passage remembers God’s mercy, it also provides a prayer of penitence. This prayer includes a word of lament for the state in which Judah finds itself. The message here originates during the post-exilic period, after the exiles return to Jerusalem and find everything destroyed, including the Temple. Seeing this reality, the people feel alone and abandoned. Where once there had been signs of God’s presence with the people, now they only saw signs of abandonment. They had been taught that when God came down it was with powerful signs. Mountains quaked and bushes burst into flames. The apocalyptic element of this passage, which speaks of God opening the heavens and coming down, has a parallel in the Gospel reading from Mark 13, which speaks of the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power (Mk 13:24-37). There is an expectation that this will take place soon in Mark, and so the people need to stay on the alert. As for the audience of Isaiah 64, none of that was taking place, and so the people cried out to God, pleading that God would remember them. They want God to act in a way that would cause their adversaries to tremble (Is. 64:1-3).

                As they pray this lament, asking God to remember them and act on their behalf, they acknowledge that no one has heard nor seen God besides the one who waits for God, perhaps imagining Moses, who is named earlier in Isaiah 63. Yes, those who do right will see God, but those who act contrary to God’s ways will be met with anger. Thus, the author of this passage acknowledges that the exiles had transgressed and become unclean. Having acknowledged this state of sin, the author acknowledges God to be the potter, and they the clay. Indeed, the author acknowledges the nation, and perhaps the people themselves, to be the work of God’s hand. Therefore, the author pleads with God not to be exceedingly angry or remember their iniquity. In other words, the exiles want to be given a fresh start. Most importantly, the author speaking on behalf of the returning exiles, wants to make sure that God has not forgotten them, though they do want God to forget their iniquity.

                As I noted above, Advent carries with it an eschatological message, as does the day’s reading from Mark 13. The prayer here is for God to rip open heaven and make God’s presence known to the world. This word comes to people who feel God’s absence, a feeling many of us share at least at certain points in our lives. Advent serves as a point of reference where we can ponder that absence as we prepare for the coming of the one who reveals God’s presence (the child born in Bethlehem—first advent—and the Son of Man coming in the clouds—second advent).

                So, we gather on the First Sunday of Advent not only to begin a new liturgical cycle (Year B) with the bright lights of Christmas shining all around us but we are also invited to participate in a communal lament. This is part of the preparation for the coming Day of the Lord. This Advent season reminds us that we live in an interregnum, the periods between the two advents (this is true even if one believes that a literal second coming of Christ will not take place). Amy Plantinga Pauw comments on our state of existence, putting it this way: “Though the church’s existence is predicated on the fact that Christ has come, many parts of God’s world seem bereft of Christ’s healing and transforming presence. Church also longs for the fullness of Christ’s presence in its midst, mending all that is broken and bringing the joy of salvation to its promised fruition” [Church in Ordinary Time, p. 120]. The returning exiles discover that their capital city is in ruins and that “our holy and beautiful house, where our ancestors praised you, has been burned by fire, and all our pleasant places have become ruins” (Is. 64:11). As we ponder this passage, while wars in places like Ukraine and Gaza, as well as elsewhere across the globe, what once were pleasant places have become ruins. The people properly lament. We may not be facing quite the same situation in material terms, but perhaps we are experiencing it spiritually. So, we too cry out to God to mend our broken world and our lives as well.

We read this passage at the beginning of Advent, a season that is often seen as offering us an opportunity to do a bit of self-reflection. It invites us to consider those things that get in the way of our relationships with God and others. It can be an uncomfortable season, especially considering the penitential nature that the season often takes on as we prepare ourselves spiritually for welcoming the incarnate one. Nevertheless, this is also the Sunday churches light the candle of Hope. So, while the reading from Isaiah 64 offers us a prayer of lament, that acknowledges our transgressions and God’s apparent absence, it does offer a word of hope. That hope is found in the recognition that God is “our Father.” Yes, God is the potter, and we are the clay. We are the work of God’s hands. Therefore, we are connected to God our creator. Indeed, the author claims the position of being part of God’s people. The larger passage provides context, as it recounts God’s gracious deeds. Indeed, the author acknowledges that God has said “Surely they are my people” (Is. 63:10).  It is on that basis, of God’s faithfulness in the past, that the author asks God to no longer remember the iniquity of the people but acknowledge their connection to God, for “we are all your people.”

So, as we gather around the Candle of Hope and recount God’s deeds, we can consider those signs of hope, even amid brokenness. This sense of hope is not simply optimism. Hope is expectation, which is why the author calls for God to tear open the heavens and come down once more. We may feel as if these are God-forsaken times, with the political situation in many places, including the United States, worrying. There is little room for optimism, but we can live in hope, for God has been and is and will be with us, even if we don’t feel that presence at the moment. Our hope begins in lament and repentance. We can offer both because we trust that God is with us. The message of Advent is that one is coming who will embody that hope, for the one who is coming is named Emmanuel. The incarnation may not seem as dramatic as God tearing open the heavens and descending into our midst, but in a way that is what happens here. So, we sing: “O Come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here, until the Son of God appear.” Yes, and “Rejoice, rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.”

Matthew 25:31-46 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

³¹ “When the Son of Man comes in his glory and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. ³² All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, ³³ and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. ³⁴ Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, ³⁵ for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, ³⁶ I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ ³⁷ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? ³⁸ And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing? ³⁹ And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ ⁴⁰ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’ ⁴¹ Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You who are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels, ⁴² for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, ⁴³ I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ ⁴⁴ Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?’ ⁴⁵ Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ ⁴⁶ And these will go away into eternal punishment but the righteous into eternal life.”

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                The Liturgical Calendar for Year A began with a reading from Matthew 24. The word we heard that first Sunday of Advent called on us to be watchful for no one knows when the Lord is coming. Jesus informs us that the moment will come like a thief in the night. ^“Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect” (Mt. 24:36-44). We end the year on Reign of Christ Sunday with a third parable from Matthew 25. Each of the two prior parables has issued warnings. The first parable, the parable of the ten bridesmaids reminded us to be always ready, while the parable of the talents tells us that we should invest wisely the resources God provides. Both include words of judgment. Now, as we reach the final Sunday of the liturgical year, Matthew offers us a look at what judgment day might entail. When read in its Matthean context, this parable, or as one commentator suggests, “word-picture,” again falls within Holy Week. Thus, Jesus will soon face judgment. That judge will be Pontius Pilate (Matt. 27:1-2).

Parables that speak of divine judgment can be troubling. The idea that God might cast people into utter darkness or send them off to experience eternal punishment is unsettling. We find it difficult to keep together the biblical message of divine love with one of divine wrath. Yet both are present. Interestingly, many progressive Christians find the parable of the sheep and goats, which brings this liturgical year to a close, compelling. That’s because it speaks of God’s commitment to the welfare of the “least of these.” Many a sermon gets preached from the parable, though often the word about casting the goats into the eternal fire is omitted. Nevertheless, this is part of the story.

The apocalyptic nature of this parable is revealed in the first sentence where Jesus tells us that “when the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory” (Mt. 25:31). The reference to the Son of Man here draws on the apocalyptic language we find in the Book of Daniel.

As I watched in the night visions,

I saw one like a human being
    coming with the clouds of heaven.
And he came to the Ancient One
    and was presented before him.
¹⁴ To him was given dominion
    and glory and kingship,
that all peoples, nations, and languages
    should serve him.
His dominion is an everlasting dominion
    that shall not pass away,
and his kingship is one
    that shall never be destroyed. (Daniel 7:13-14)

It is this Son of Man (the NRSVUE uses “human being” rather than Son of Man, but for our purposes, I prefer Son of Man because it carries the apocalyptic sense of the passage better) whom Daniel speaks of who comes to sit on the throne and judge the nations of the world. This message of judgment, which includes both blessing and cursing, stands in continuity with the promise God made to Abraham to bless the nations through Abraham’s descendants (Gen.12:1-4).

                In this vision of the day of judgment, all the nations (panta to ethnē), that is, the Gentile nations, are gathered. The judge, the Son of Man, now called the king, will separate the sheep from the goats, placing the sheep on the right and the goats on the left. With this sorting of the two species, the judge invites the sheep to come forward, for they are blessed and will inherit the kingdom that had been prepared for them since the beginning of creation.

                The king not only invites the sheep forward to inherit the realm, but he lays out the criteria on which they were selected. The king tells the sheep that they had passed the test by giving him food when hungry, offering him a drink when he was thirsty, welcoming him when a stranger, clothing him when naked, caring for him when sick, and visiting him when in prison. The sheep answered with a bit of surprise, wondering when and how they had done all of this for the king.  The king tells them that they have done all of this when they did it to the least of the members of the king’s family. Now here is where this gets tricky. Some interpreters believe that Jesus had in mind his messengers. Those persons, including Gentiles, who treated them well would be blessed. Others interpret this more broadly to include all marginalized people. There are good reasons behind each choice. I prefer the broader interpretation but understand why the former might be chosen.

When we take the first interpretation, with the least of these being Jesus’ messengers, then the nations (Gentiles) are judged on how they responded to these missionaries. This fits with an earlier discussion found in Matthew 10, where Jesus tells his disciples, when sending them out, that they would be mistreated. So, when this happens, just shake the dirt off their feet as a sign of judgment. Here is the key passage: “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous,  and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward” (Mt. 10:40-42). Note the reference to the “little ones,” who in this case are Jesus’ disciples. Although I’ve resisted this interpretation, if read in light of the rest of Matthew, it is the one that makes sense. Nevertheless, is it not possible to embrace both the narrower and the broader interpretations?  If the broader interpretation is chosen, it fits with a sense of calling on the part of many in the church to care for all who might be hungry, thirsty, a stranger (immigrant?), lacking clothes, sick, or in prison. For many of us, the more universalized interpretation also fits with how we perceive Jesus. That’s the good news, but it’s not the only news. We still have the goats to contend with.

Whether the reference is to missionaries or the marginalized in general, the sheep have done the right thing. To them belongs God’s realm. But then there are the goats. They face the same criteria as the sheep, and like the sheep, they are surprised by the judgment. They wanted to know when they had seen the judge/king in any of these situations and didn’t do the right thing. Of course, it is because they hadn’t taken care of the “least of these,” that the judge says to them “You are accursed.”  Not only that, but the judge also tells them: “Depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” This is the part that makes us uncomfortable. This word about casting the goats into the eternal fire, which essentially means that the judge is telling them to “go to hell,” causes many of us heartburn. I need to be upfront that I reject the premise of hell (see my essay “The History of Hell and Back” in the book Deconstructing Hell), but if we’re going to embrace word as a foundation for social justice we do need to hear this word of judgment on those who failed to feed the hungry, give a drink to the thirsty, and the rest, who failed to care for the king by caring for the least of the king’s family members (whether missionaries or the marginalized).

The message is related to the previous parables, which speak to how we live as followers of Jesus during this interregnum between advents. As Anna Case-Winters points out the message of this parable/word-picture is: “To be among the ‘righteous’ is to live out the loved of the neighbor, demonstrating justice through acts of mercy for the most vulnerable. To live this way is to be always ready for the judgment and not in the position of saying, ‘I really was not expecting you—not here and not now—and certainly not in the “distressing disguise” of this person in need’” [Matthew: Belief, p. 281].  This is the primary message, though we can’t ignore the word about eternal fire. We may need to think in more metaphorical terms, such as purgation, such that we can still be redeemed. Nevertheless, words about judgment, like Case-Winters reminds us, “Judgment is finally about setting things right: establishing justice. The coming of a just judge is something to be received with gladness—especially by those who have been oppressed or excluded by injustices” [Matthew, p. 282]. As we ponder this passage, recognizing that the message of judgment is challenging, to say the least, as for those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus, might we agree that the way love God is through the way we love our neighbors?

The liturgical year ends by celebrating the reign of God on earth as in heaven. Having been warned to stay ready for the coming of the Son of Man, this parable tells us what happens when the Son of Man arrives, taking up his place on the throne and beginning the work of setting things right. So, we sing in celebration of the Reign of Christ:

                Jesus shall reign where’er the sun does its successive journeys run;

                His love shall spread from shore to shore till moons shall wax no more. 

zekiel 34:11-16, 20-24 New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition

¹¹ For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep and will sort them out. ¹² As shepherds sort out their flocks when they are among scattered sheep, so I will sort out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. ¹³ I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries and bring them into their own land, and I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the watercourses, and in all the inhabited parts of the land. ¹⁴ I will feed them with good pasture, and the mountain heights of Israel shall be their pasture; there they shall lie down in good grazing land, and they shall feed on rich pasture on the mountains of Israel. ¹⁵ I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. ¹⁶ I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strays, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.

²⁰ Therefore, thus says the Lord God to them: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep. ²¹ Because you pushed with flank and shoulder and butted at all the weak animals with your horns until you scattered them far and wide, ²² I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged, and I will judge between sheep and sheep.

²³ I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them; he shall feed them and be their shepherd. ²⁴ And I the Lord will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them; I the Lord have spoken.

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                The year that began the First Sunday of Advent has reached its conclusion. We have been following, since the Sunday after Pentecost the story of God’s covenant-making with Abraham and his descendants. The journey took us to Canaan, then Egypt, and with the call of Moses, a journey back to Canaan, which was seen as the Promised Land.  Moses didn’t get to cross over to the Promised Land. That responsibility was left to Joshua who led the people into the Promised Land, where the people settled in. However, as we saw with the story of Deborah, the people struggled to stay faithful to the covenant. On this final Sunday of the church year, before we turn the page and start again with Advent, we turn to the prophet Ezekiel, who reminds us that God is the Good Shepherd who cares for the sheep.

                The imagery here in Ezekiel 34 involves shepherds and sheep. At one level God is the good shepherd who takes good care of the sheep. At a second level, Ezekiel envisions David (or one from the Davidic line) serving as shepherd. In other words, the monarch serves as God’s vicar, God’s representative, taking care of the sheep on God’s behalf. The opening verses of Ezekiel 34, which are omitted here speak to the shepherds whom God has rejected, the leaders of Judah who fed themselves rather than their sheep. In fact, these former shepherds allowed the sheep to be scattered across the hills, making them food for wild animals. God has chosen to put a stop to them and will step in and rescue the flock (Ezk 34:1-10). Ron Allen and Clark Williamson comment:

By omitting Ezekiel 34:1-10, the lection overlooks an important point: the exile resulted in no small part from the failure of monarchs (and priests and prophets) of Israel. Instead of seeing that all in the community had the resources to experience blessing (with a special eye on the poor), the rules failed in significant regard. They not only fed themselves instead of feeding the sheep but fed themselves on the sheep (34:2-4). Consequently, the sheep were scattered through exile, becoming prey to wild animals (34:4-9).  [Preaching the Old Testament, p. 118].  

As we ponder this interpretation by Allen and Williamson it’s difficult not to think about how many politicians and other leaders feed themselves but care little for the people they serve and represent. In this case, God has decided to fire the shepherds of Israel and is taking over the job by appointing a new David to rule.

                This reading from Ezekiel is paired with Matthew’s account of the parable of the sheep and goats, where the judge separates sheep from goats based on the way they treat the least of God’s children (Matt. 25:31-46). That parable draws on Ezekiel’s prophetic words that emerged during the exile. Ezekiel delivers this word to a people who lived in exile, knowing that a foreign power controlled the homeland and the beloved temple lay in ruins. One of the questions that the people continually raised had to do with what God was up to. Ezekiel answers that question by reminding the people that God is the shepherd who cares for the sheep but also sorts them so that justice might be done. If you look closely here, while no goats are mentioned, you can see where Jesus might have gotten his ideas about the sorting judge.

                A key piece in this narrative arc that runs from the call of Abraham through the monarchy (though we only explored this arc up to the story of Deborah) is the recognition that God is present even when God appears to be absent. As for us, as Christians, we live within a narrative arc that runs from the proclamation of John the Baptist, calling for us to prepare the way for the coming of the Lord, through a storyline that leads to the coming into full existence of the realm of God. We continue this journey between advents until the second advent takes place. The message that the lectionary texts are designed to elicit from us is one of hope. Don’t give up even though the arrival of the realm has been delayed. As for Ezekiel’s message, God the Shepherd, is present with us. This interregnum we are experiencing may mirror the exile, but the exile is not a permanent state. Therefore, even though the flock is scattered, the shepherd will seek out the sheep and restore the flock.

                As with Jesus’ parable of the sheep and goats, there is a word of judgment in Ezekiel’s message. Rather than sheep and goats, Ezekiel speaks of the fat and powerful sheep who bully the smaller, less powerful sheep (I should note that in the omitted verses from 17-19, Ezekiel mentions the separation of rams from goats). After all, the sheep are now on their own, trying to survive by pushing down those smaller and weaker. The message Ezekiel offers here is that the people who eat well at the expense of others in the community will face judgment, while those who are pushed aside will be blessed. Who are these fat and powerful sheep? Ezekiel might have Babylon in mind because it was rich and powerful, while smaller and more vulnerable nations such as Judah lived in fear of Babylon. How might this situation be reversed?

                Due to the conquest of Judah by Babylon, which removed part of the population from Judah to Babylon, the nation of Judah was scattered apart. Babylon was, for the moment, the biggest bully on the block. So how might things change? The word Ezekiel delivers on behalf of God is: “I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice” (Ezk. 34:16). Yes, God will seek out the stray sheep, bind up the ones who were injured, and strengthen those who were weak. As for those who are fat and strong, they will be destroyed. They will face the sovereign judge, which leads to their destruction.  

Whether it was known by this name or not, Social Darwinism has been a dominant force in human society from the beginning of time. Ezekiel might not know the philosophy, which borrowed from Charles Darwin’s biological theory of the “survival of the fittest,” human society has operated on this basis and continues to do so to this day. Whether we acknowledge the premise or not, we have operated with the philosophy that might makes right. It found its most visible expression in the eugenics movement of the early 20^th century and the genocidal policies of Adolph Hitler sought to create the master race, which meant that anyone not fitting his vision had to be removed one way or another. Thus, Jews, Gypsies, those with disabilities, gays and lesbians, all had to be exterminated. That philosophy may have been abandoned, but we still operate with the premise that the strongest will survive, which is why powerful nations invest heavily in the war machine.

As with the reading from Matthew 25, this reading from Ezekiel 34 speaks of divine judgment. In other words, consequences come with failing to live according to the covenant stipulations. In this case, the shepherd will rule against the “fat sheep” who butted the weaker animals off to the side so they can eat their fill and more. The idea here is that when these fattened sheep are culled, the rest of the flock will thrive. While Ezekiel envisions the restoration of the nation in the homeland, Matthew has an apocalyptic vision of judgment in mind. What links the two besides some of the language is that both Ezekiel and Matthew’s Jesus speak to God’s concern for the poor and outcast.

 Tanner, Henry Ossawa, 1859-1937. Good Shepherd, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58136 [retrieved November 14, 2023]. Original source: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Henry_Ossawa_Tanner_-_The_Good_Shepherd.jpg.